So John Picked
by yourbirdcantsing
Summary: Sherlock wants a child to continue his work. Here is the story of his adventures as a father. JohnxSherlock MultiChapter.
1. Decide

_**Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I'm Lexi, this is my first intense multi-chapter Sherlock fanficiton. I'm very excited to see the reaction I get from everyone! I promise that this fanfiction will not get very sexual it will stay at T. I also promise that JOHNLOCK will get together before the fanfiction is over. They just aren't together in the beginning. It's all part of the fun. Also, I'm not a professional so there will be some errors. Well anyway… Happy reading Sherlockians.**_

_"I know I've said this a lot before, but now people are really going to talk…" the army doctor whispered in Sherlock's ear as they made their way to a crime scene through the paparazzi. The consulting detective replied, "What? About this?" He pointed down at the stroller he was pushing and shouted, "NO NEED TO BE ALARMED, she's asleep! We've already decided that she won't be allowed to see any dead bodies until she's at least 5."_

_"Sherlock," John muttered, an angry look on his face, "That's not what I meant. And I told you she's not going to be seeing any dead bodies while she's still a child." The cameras flashed and they continued toward the sight of the crime._

_A baby?_ John thought, _but Sherlock himself acts like a baby. He is always bored and stubborn. Why would he want to take care of a baby? Plus, we don't have time for a child. Sherlock has new cases coming in on a regular basis now. And if we are raising a baby together, people will definitely think we're gay…_

The doctor had expressed his thoughts to his flatmate many times, but Sherlock refused to listen. As usual, he'd become set on an idea and no one was stopping him. He was lying on the sofa with John's laptop on his chest, clicking through listings of potential mothers. Occasionally he would give a comment like, "Too stupid, too bland, and too boring!" Then he'd continue on and a few minutes later with wide eyes he'd say, "She's got potential, very pretty…" But then he'd decide she wasn't good enough and keep on scrolling.

This calmed John down a bit, because if it took Sherlock this long to find a decent mother, maybe he'd give up on the idea all together. Of course, Sherlock did not give up. His logic was simple and he'd repeated it many times before, to anyone who would listen. He'd say over and over, "You see, it's just logical that I reproduce. I am very intelligent, and it would be a waste not to carry on a pedigree like mine! It's a service to my country! When I'm gone, Scotland Yard will need another consulting detective."

John rolled his eyes each time his friend repeated these stupid explanations, because he knew deep down Sherlock wanted a baby for completely different reasons. John had seen the way he admired parents and their children. The consulting detective wanted the kind of happiness he saw in those kin, the kind of love and undying family affection that glued them together. Something Sherlock's family had lacked in his childhood.

One sunny afternoon the flatmates were carrying on the routine that had recently become habit. Sherlock was violently clicking the down arrow on John's laptop, frustrated. John was reading the paper like he always did, but then something out of the ordinary happened.

Sherlock spoke up, "Well John, that's it, there is no woman in all of Great Britain worthy of bearing my child." He sighed, and slammed the laptop shut.

John should have been rejoicing, it was finally over, Sherlock would move on from this silly notion that he should be a father, but he wasn't rejoicing. In fact, he felt a pressure deep within his chest, a kind of violent sadness. He knew how much this meant to Sherlock, and at some point it had begun to mean something to him, too.

John, now sure of his decision to help his friend, asked, "Well were any of the ones you've looked at so far… maybe not perfect… but close to perfect? The baby's genetics won't be entirely hers…"

The two spent the entire afternoon searching through the mothers that Sherlock had liked before, but had cast off as "imperfect". It was evening when they'd narrowed his choices down to three. Three potential mothers, all very smart and very beautiful, but Sherlock still didn't think a single one of them was perfect.

He took a deep breath and looked John in the eyes. Then he said, "John, pick."

John was taken aback. He replied, "But Sherlock… this is going to be your kid, it's not my place to make this decision for you."

The detective trusted John more than anyone so he admitted, "I will never be satisfied with anyone, I'm seeking perfection… when in reality no human can be perfect. I need you to pick, please."

So John picked.


	2. Expecting

_**Author's Note: Well, not much to say about this chapter. It's short, but it's a stand-alone sort of chapter. When I wrote it I thought it was really "fluffy" and out of character, but Lisa encouraged me to keep it in the story. If you don't like it, I guess you can skip it, but I found it amusing. The next chapter will be longer. Happy Reading Sherlockians.**_

John was silently observing as Sherlock studied some evidence under a microscope. That's when always-cheerful Molly burst through the doors. Sherlock didn't even look up, but John greeted her with a smile. She was used to Sherlock being consumed by his work, so she didn't mind. "Coffee?" She simply asked. Sherlock shook his head.

"What? You don't want coffee? But," she mumbled in confusion. Sherlock had broken her routine.

"I can't have too much caffeine. I've already had a cup today," the detective replied. John rolled his eyes. Molly wasn't satisfied with this answer. She needed to know why. She pleaded, "But why?"

Sherlock looked up from his microscope, "Oh yes I haven't told you yet! Molly I'm pregnant! You can't have much caffeine when you're expecting! I read that online!" Molly was perplexed. John brought the palm of his hand to his face in a displeased and annoyed fashion. Just as Sherlock had done with the solar system, it appeared as though Sherlock had deleted logical basic human biology from his brain too. _It doesn't even make sense that he'd think what he consumes matters. Sometimes geniuses lack all ordinary reasoning and common sense._

"You're…. what?" Molly squeaked. She was a woman of science, and knew that what Sherlock had just proposed was physically impossible.

John explained, "I tried to clarify that those rules only apply to the mother, but he doesn't seem to understand. Maybe you can help."

"You… are having a baby… with someone…?" Molly almost ended her question with the word "else", but she knew the feelings she had for Sherlock were not mutual. She decided the word just didn't fit.

"Well with a surrogate mother of course," the detective noted.

Molly sighed with relief, but then, her mind went wild with theories again. "So wait are you and…." She muttered as she motioned between the two men.

John quickly interjected, "Gay? No."

"Oh good. I mean, if you were I would fully support it… but, just good. Good," the girl stuttered.


	3. Magic

Bright late afternoon light glistened on the crime scene. They were in an alleyway, surrounded by cop cars. Sherlock was analyzing a body, Lestrade was hovering over him taking notes and John was standing close by. That's when John's phone rang. Before he even had a chance to answer it, Sherlock jumped up. "I'm sorry Lestrade but I must be off!"

"But Sherlock, what if that's not what the phone call is about?" John questioned, automatically knowing Sherlock thought it was about the baby.

"Look at the caller's name, John! And we're only 2 days from the due date! Come on! Let's go!" Sherlock ran off, ducking under crime scene tape and heading for the main road.

"SHERLOCK, don't go without me," John shouted, as he ran to catch up with the excited detective.

Sherlock took a moment to think. He imagined a map of London in his head, and picking a route, decided he could easily run to the hospital from his current location. An exhausted John appeared behind him just as he was about to start off. The detective turned to face the doctor who asked, "Sherlock… why didn't you wait for me? You do want me to come with you right?"

Sherlock gave a slight smile, "Oh, yeah of course! I'm sorry I just got excited."

John grinned and then said, "Well, lead the way." The duo started off toward the hospital, beaming.

Many hours later, John and Sherlock were still sitting in the hospital's waiting room. Sherlock, who was very anxious, could not sleep, but John rested his head on the detective's shoulder, completely passed out. All of a sudden, a nurse burst into the room searching for "Mr. Sherlock Holmes." For a moment, as if he'd forgotten his own name, Sherlock did not respond. Then reality set in. _HE _was "Mr. Sherlock Holmes." He shook John awake as he shouted, "JOHN, John, JOHN!" John awoke with a start.

"Why are you waking me?" he demanded. Noticing the over excited man waking his friend, the nurse walked over, "I assume you're Mr. Holmes?"

They were led down a corridor to the room where the newborn babies were kept. "Here she is!" The nurse grinned, pointing to a baby girl. Sherlock smiled in a way John had never seen him smile before. It wasn't the kind of smile Sherlock put on when he was correcting you or calling you an idiot. It wasn't the kind of smile Sherlock used when he found something humorous. This was a new smile, a genuine smile. A doctor walked in and stood next to them. _How odd,_ John thought, _do doctors always wear their masks in this room? No one else in this room has to? _Sherlock's phone beeped. An anonymous message popped up on the white screen. It read, "I bet you thought I was dead? Well two can play at your silly game."Then the man, standing very near the detective, removed his mask to reveal a familiar face. Sherlock was shocked, and stumbled backward, almost falling onto John. He regained his balance quickly and tried to think of what to say.

"So, our fairytale has a princess now?" Moriarty cackled.

John defensively snapped, "LEAVE, NOW."

Sherlock still could not fully comprehend the situation. He had not known that Moriarty was still alive. "I saw you die! You had a gun and you pulled the trigger, " the flabbergasted detective declared.

The criminal insisted, "And I saw you jump off of a building. Magic my dear Sherlock! Smoke and Mirrors!" Then, he waltzed out of the room, humming an eerie tune. Sherlock decided to act like nothing had happened. This bothered John, who was very worried after seeing Moriarty alive and aware of the baby's existence.


	4. Name

**_Thanks for reading and reviewing everyone! Keep the feedback coming! _**

The nurse returned shortly after Moriarty's dramatic exit. John hadn't even noticed her disappearance. "What are you going to call her? Do you need more time to think? I can come back later," she asked Sherlock. Sherlock hadn't really put much thought into names. John had nagged him, suggesting he prepare a list, but he didn't want a list. He wanted the first thing that popped into his head when he looked at the baby to be her name. "Charlotte. Charlotte Irene Holmes," Sherlock decided.

John protested, "No way Sherlock! You can't name your daughter after Irene Alder! That is absolutely repulsive! How sick!"

Sherlock sighed. He replied, "Fine, Charlotte Harriet Holmes."

John was still not pleased. He objected, "You can't name your daughter after my lesbian sister! Really Sherlock? REALLY?" The little army doctor was becoming irate.

"Fine then, John, you suggest a name," Sherlock recommended.

"I couldn't possibly! She's yours," John protested.

"Please," Sherlock gently requested with a quiet voice.

"Delilah. Call her Charlotte Delilah," John decided.

The detective grinned at his best friend, but the look on his face still said so much more. An outsider might have even claimed it was a look of lust and longing, but John didn't see it that way. John just saw his best friend, beaming with excitement. Sherlock uttered, "Perfect. It's beautiful."

John grinned right back.

Two days later, John exited through the huge glass doors, and Sherlock quickly followed with the baby's carrier hanging off his right arm. The sun was bright, but it was still rather cold. The newborn was wrapped in a fuzzy pink blanket, fast asleep. Paparazzi surrounded the hospital's main entrance. "How did they know exactly when we'd be leaving?" John wondered.

Sherlock sighed and replied, "Mycroft isn't a very proud uncle. He's cross with me about this whole situation, so it's revenge. Let's have fun with it to spite him, ok?"

John continued leading the way, pushing through the crowd to make a path for Sherlock-plus-baby. Cameras flashed and he protectively sneered, "No flash photography!" This did not stop the crazed reporters. He turned back to look at Sherlock who shrugged and stopped to answer a question.

"What's her name?" the lucky journalist questioned.

Sherlock responded sarcastically, "Mycroft Holmes."

John giggled. The journalist frowned and nagged, "No, really?"

Sherlock continued through the crowd and yelled, "Any other questions?"

A courageous reporter butted in. She asked, "So you two are still denying the rumors about your sexuality?" Sherlock glared at the reporter. _Please just don't be sarcastic right now Sherlock_, John thought.

The sociopath began his rant, "For everyone who is listening. I am not a homosexual, and neither is my good friend John. We're just flatmates. And if that's all then I must be off." John held open the door of the cab; Sherlock slid in and buckled in the car seat/carrier. John followed, pulling the door shut.

The ride back to Baker Street was silent, but as soon as they opened the door to 221B, Sherlock and John laughed uncontrollably.

"'What's her name?' 'Mycroft Holmes'," Sherlock mimicked the reporter and himself between his chuckling. He had not been this happy in a long time.

They made their way upstairs. Mrs. Hudson was standing in their kitchen, waiting for them with tea and coffee. At the sight of the baby carrier she exclaimed, "Oh let me see her!" Setting the carrier down, Sherlock lifted the fluffy pink bundle and handed her to Mrs. Hudson.

"She looks just like you! I'd be happy to look after her sometime, but just remember I'm not your nanny! She's very cute and I bet she'll be smart too. Just like her daddy," The landlady murmured. She baby-talked to the infant as the two men sat down to drink.

She mumbled, "Oh you are such a cute little one! Yes you are! I bet you're going to have gorgeous hair and look at your lovely little eyes! Boys will be knocking down your door! Yes they will! Your daddy and your Uncle John will have to scare them all away!"

That reminded Sherlock of an important issue he'd forgotten to bring up before the baby was born. The moment many months ago when he'd asked John to pick the mother of his child, he had decided he wanted his daughter to see his closest friend as a sort of second father. He knew John would protest. It would cause the gay rumors to escalate if she went around calling the pair her "dads", but quite frankly this didn't seem to matter much to the detective. He knew John would be just as present in her life as he was. Why shouldn't his status be equal to her biological father's? Sherlock had re-confirmed this idea by letting the ex-army doctor pick his daughter's middle name. Now he just had to find the right time to bring it up. _Now?_ He thought, _No Mrs. Hudson is here. That would complicate things. Later tonight… I'll tell him later tonight._

Mrs. Hudson handed the baby to Sherlock and bid the flatmates farewell, "I'll be off now!"

Sherlock supported the infant's head with his hand and looked down into her eyes. "She's mine John, look at her, she's lovely," Sherlock whispered. The baby was falling asleep again, lying comfortably in her father's arms. Sherlock stood up and said, "I'm going to put her in her crib now…"

"Are you sure you're alright keeping her in your room? We could move the crib into the living room, that way we could take turns staying up when she cries. Just until we figure out a better arrangement." John suggested.

"It's fine, I barely sleep anyway…" Sherlock's voice trialed off as his eyes stayed fixated on the child resting in his arms.

A second later Sherlock reappeared in the living room. John was sitting on the sofa reading a book. _Now's my chance to bring it up, _thought Sherlock.

"John?" the detective requested.

"Yes?" John looked up and responded.

"We need to talk about something," Sherlock posed, "What do you think she should call you?"

The confused doctor replied, "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. I'm talking about how everyone's assuming you want her to call you Uncle John. Is that really what you want?" Sherlock asked as he sat down next to John.

"Well what else might I want to be called?" The doctor contested.

"I was just thinking… maybe she should call you dad, too," The detective suggested shyly.

John smiled and stressed, "If that's what you want." The doctor was happy, and this was what he wanted, but he didn't now how Sherlock could tell.

"You're a true friend John. I know you're going to be a big help and I'm so glad to have your support." Sherlock uttered, grabbing John in an awkward hug. The two best friends embraced for a brief moment. "Goodnight Sherlock," John bid his flatmate farewell and left to go to bed. _How strange… I thought he'd respond differently…_ Sherlock was disappointed.


	5. Complicated

Charlotte had immediately affected the lives of Sherlock and John. They spent long nights tending to the crying baby, but she was really a sweet child. Everyone loved her, and it appeared as though she loved everyone back. For the first 10 months Mrs. Hudson had been willing to watch the adorable little girl while her fathers were out. This routine changed one day when Sherlock was asked to consult on a case immediately, but Mrs. Hudson was out. John offered to stay home. Sherlock said he needed John to tag along. So he bundled the baby up and sat her in her stroller. Then they were off.

"I know I've said this a lot before, but now people are really going to talk…" the army doctor whispered in Sherlock's ear as they made their way to the crime scene through the paparazzi. The consulting detective replied, "What? About this?" He pointed down at the stroller he was pushing and shouted, "NO NEED TO BE ALARMED, she's asleep! We've already decided that she won't be allowed to see any dead bodies until she's at least 5."

"Sherlock," John muttered, an angry look on his face, "That's not what I meant. And I told you she's not going to be seeing any dead bodies while she's still a child." The cameras flashed and they continued toward the sight of the crime.

"Why did you bring her along? She's only 10 months old! This is no place for a baby," Donovan scuffed from her place along the crime scene tape.

"Shut up Donovan and let me in or you'll never close this case," Sherlock rebutted. She let him through.

The next morning Lestrade burst into the flat at Baker Street carrying a newspaper. Sherlock, who was sitting in his favorite chair, looked up, "What are you doing here?"

Lestrade threw the paper onto Sherlock's lap. "Read," he said.

Sherlock skimmed the article, touching on the main points; reading aloud, "Great detective is an unfit parent… gay investigators don't know how to raise a baby… crime scene is no place for a child… Scotland Yard shouldn't allow this kind of behavior… custody should be revoked… what were they thinking?"

A concerned John emerged from the kitchen carrying the baby. He looked at Sherlock and moaned, "I told you Sherlock. Why don't you listen to me?"

Sherlock threw the paper on the floor and brought his hands together in his favorite position for thinking. He prepared his words wisely and said, "Lestrade, I just wanted her to be exposed to crime at a young age. I want it to be first nature for her. I'm sorry, that was wrong of me. I will ask Mrs. Hudson to watch her next time I'm on a case, or have John stay here with her. It won't happen again. And John, I should have listened to you. I'm sorry."

The detective sounded like a schoolboy who'd just been scolded. He was embarrassed and ashamed. Society didn't understand his actions, but now he was beginning to think he didn't either. Charlotte would have to wait a bit longer before she could join her fathers at crime scenes.


	6. Words

Shortly after the crime scene incident, Sherlock began to worry, because Charlotte had not yet said her first word. He had read that babies usually said their first words sometime between the age of 6 and 8 months. They just said simple things, like "mama" and "dada", but that was enough. Sherlock dreamed of the day she'd call him Dad, but Charlotte was 11 months old and still hadn't uttered a thing.

John was sitting in his chair, typing up something on his blog. Sherlock was seated on the floor, setting up rainbow colored building blocks and letting Charlotte knock them down. She giggled uncontrollably each time her father had to reassemble the tower of colorful wooden bricks. He mentioned, "John, don't you think she should be speaking already? She's already almost a year old. I'm worried. She should have been speaking long ago! She's my daughter; she should be ahead, not behind! Mother told me I spoke early on…"

John sighed. He replied, "Maybe she's just waiting for the right thing to say." Sherlock pouted, then continued stacking blocks, in a childish manner. Charlotte was getting bored of the game, to signal this she grabbed some of the blocks and crawled them over to the toy box on the other side of the room. John suggested, "See Sherlock? She's smart enough to come up with ways to tell us things. She doesn't need to talk just yet."

Later that evening Sherlock was examining blood from a crime scene in the kitchen. He reached for his pipette, but couldn't find it. "John, could you hand me my pipette."

He expected to feel a strong hand placing a pipette into his palm, but instead, he felt tiny fingers dropping it. He looked up to see his daughter stretching out of her highchair and smiling. "Here dada," Charlotte cooed.

Sherlock stuttered with excitement and surprise, "JOHN, JOHN, she's talking!"

John turned from the stove, "That's great, but how many times do I have to tell you it's not safe to have her near this lab equipment? How does she know exactly what a pipette is?"

Sherlock stumbled, "John… I'm sorry… sometimes I'm in the middle of a case. I can't just stop when you have to go out. Also, you know I enjoy talking out loud while I work."

John frowned, "So you lie to me and tell me you'll pay attention to her? You say, 'John, no need to worry I've got it.' You don't mean it. Do you have any sense of responsibility?"

The detective tried to muster a clever reply, but he was guilty and John was distressed. He hated to see the doctor upset. All he could come up with was, "I have a lot of responsibilities and she's just one of them."

John responded, "Yes, but she is the most important. You have human instincts right? Why can't you tell the difference between good and bad?"

"Bewause you're a idiot," the infant clucked.

Sherlock whispered, "I'm sorry."

John supposed, "It's alright, just be more careful. Look, you thought she was slow, but she said her first words… or more like sentences."

Sherlock boasted, "Yes! She's brilliant!" He turned to Charlotte and asked, "Why did you wait so long to talk?" He wasn't expecting a reply.

A moment later she replied, "Dada no ask Chawotte to tawk 'fore."

The detective grinned. _That's my girl_, he thought. John was still a bit worried, but he couldn't hold back his smirk.

**Author's Note: Thanks for reading, sorry about the long time between updates. This chapter was actually really difficult. I had no idea what her first words were going to be... took me a week to pick!**


	7. Birthday

**Author's Note**_**: I was writing a first birthday party for Charlotte… and then this happened. I was going to rewrite it, but Lisa liked it. She encouraged me to keep going and gave me some ideas. Here is it! Enjoy. **_

Sherlock wanted Charlotte's first birthday to be special, but he didn't realize just how special it was going to be. He'd asked Mrs. Hudson to prepare a cake, which she reluctantly agreed to doing. "Just this once," she had insisted. Then, he phoned everyone he knew, which didn't really add up to much, and invited them. John tried to be involved, but Sherlock was set on planning the event himself. The day of the party he decorated the flat with pink balloons and streamers. Then he picked out paper plates with little kittens on them. While setting out plates for the cake and mugs for tea, he looked at his handwritten list of people attending the party:

_Mycroft, Lestrade, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Anderson, Donovan and Harriet._

The last on the list John had insisted Sherlock invite, because now that his sister was sober he wanted her to be involved in Charlotte's life. Sherlock set the plates in a pile on the table, counting out nine. Then he put a special tiny plate out next to them, for Charlotte. She came waddling into the room, showing off her newfound skill of walking. She was holding her favorite stuffed animal, a little bulldog, in her hand and her fuzzy pink blanket in the other. "John, why did you let her walk this far alone?" the worried father complained, "She could have tripped on her own blanket!"

The baby threw her arms up and yelped, "Dada!" Sherlock picked her up, set her on his hip and gave her a kiss on the cheek. John finally responded, "Sorry, I was focused on assembling the ridiculous gift you insisted we purchase." He continued reading the instructions for the assembly of the dollhouse for Charlotte.

Sherlock walked into the sitting room and croaked, "You spoiled it! You can't put her present together in front of her. That ruins the surprise."

John looked up from the dollhouse and replied, "Sherlock, she's only a year old. It doesn't make much difference."

Sherlock pouted like a child, but John ignored it. Mrs. Hudson arrived first. She casually sat down in Sherlock's favorite chair, which annoyed him, but he didn't say anything. After the landlady, John's sister Harry entered. She shook Sherlock's hand and gave her brother a big hug. She smiled at the little girl and set a gift down on the table. Sherlock was noticed some signs that she'd been drinking again, but kept that to himself.

Next, Mycroft appeared at the door. He greeted his niece with a pat on the head, and then handed a package to his brother. It was wrapped in gray and pink umbrella paper. A huge ribbon was tied around it. He said, "Put that wherever gifts are going. She will love it!" Sherlock gripped Charlotte (who was still resting on his almost non-existent hip) with one hand and carried the package to the table with the other. Mycroft got involved in a pleasant conversation with John's sister, but they stood too close to the flat's entrance. Molly managed to squeezed by them and walked toward Sherlock and the infant. She handed another package to the detective.

Subsequently, Lestrade came bursting through the door. He was struggling to balance multiple presents, piled very high. (Donovan and Anderson had insisted that he carry the gifts they'd purchased in addition to what he'd gotten for Charlotte, why he agreed no one will ever know. There might have been some threats involved.) He could barely see over the cumbersome pile. He tripped, catching the presents in his arms before falling. Even though he avoided damage to the gifts, he faulted by bumping into Mycroft. Upon realizing this, he set the presents safely on the ground and looked up to apologize. Then he saw Mycroft's face for the first time. Of course he'd seen pictures of the consulting detective's infamous brother, but pictures couldn't compare to the piercing feeling that filled his chest when he looked into the man's eyes. Lestrade mumbled, "Oh, I'm sorry, I-" Mycroft reached his hand out to help the DI up.

Mycroft was also a bit fluster, he croaked, "Oh, no… It's quite alright." When the detective inspector was standing, Mycroft shook is hand and introduced himself, "I'm Mycroft Holmes. Surely my dear brother has told you a million nasty lies and exaggerations about me."

Lestrade smiled, "Yes he has. I'm Greg Lestrade, nice to finally meet you."

Donovan and Anderson appeared at the door. The men still had their hands tightly clenched and they realized that everyone in the room was staring at them. They let go, but the rest of the room's occupants were still looking.

Sherlock distracted the guests by saying, "Well, everyone's here! Let's have some tea, coffee and cake! Then we can all discuss how wonderful, intelligent and adorable my lovely daughter is. It is her special day after all."

John rolled his eyes and went to grab the cake and plates from the kitchen. After they sang a very off-key rendition of the Happy Birthday song, Sherlock helped Charlotte blow out the candles. Everyone clapped and giggled as the little girl imitated her father. Anderson complained that Sherlock and his baby were getting spit all over the cake. Sherlock replied, "Anderson, get out! You're lowering the IQ of my one year old!"

Charlotte mumbled, "AMBEWSEN, get out!" Everyone laughed again. Mrs. Hudson was chosen to mediate, making sure the scientist and the detective could get along for the rest of the evening without drawing blood.

Cake, warm drinks, good conversation and admiring the toddler were consuming the attention of most guests, but not all. Lestrade couldn't get Mycroft out of his head, and Mycroft couldn't get Lestrade off his mind. An instant connection appeared to have formed between them, but neither knew exactly what it meant.

Charlotte struggled to open her gifts, but her father insisted she do it herself. Eventually he realized it was taking too long, he gave in and helped her undo the ribbons and rip the paper. Molly's gift was a doll, but not an average doll. The front side of the toy was an accurate diagram of the human skeletal system, and the back showed all the muscles of the human body. It seemed the proper gift for a genius' daughter. Charlotte didn't quite get it, but she liked how soft it felt and set down her bulldog so she could give the doll a hug. Mycroft's gift, as anyone could have guessed, was an umbrella. It was a tiny, kid-sized pink umbrella with a dark black handle. Charlotte was a bit confused by it, but when Sherlock pushed it open she giggled and clapped her tiny hands. He closed it and set it back in the box. Harriet's gift was a personalized storybook; each page had a sentence with Charlotte's name in it. When the pages were opened, they played music. Charlotte liked that. Donovan, Lestrade and Anderson had purchased some clothing together (that was what filled the boxes Lestrade struggled to carry into the flat earlier). Charlotte didn't understand why this gift didn't do anything fun… she was displeased. Sherlock and John thanked them awkwardly. Mrs. Hudson, who knew that John and Sherlock had purchased a dollhouse, gave the little girl a few dolls and some furniture.

After the gifts, Sherlock began retelling the story of Charlotte's first words. Mycroft looked over at Lestrade, who had chosen to sit right next to him. They were at the end of the crowd, and he knew that they could slip away unnoticed because of how involved Sherlock's Charlotte tales could become. He waited until he had the DI's attention, and then nodded his head. His gesture was somehow understood. Lestrade, a bit shocked, complied willingly and silently followed the man.

It wasn't until the end of Sherlock's complex tale that someone noticed the pair's disappearance. John looked over at the empty couch and questioned, "Hey, where did your brother go Sherlock?"

Donovan also looked at the sofa and asked, "And Lestrade?" The guests began to search around the flat for several minutes.

It was Harriet who discovered their location, _John's room_. She opened the door and found them together. They were seated off the edge of John's bed, wrapped in each other's arms and kissing. Lestrade saw John's sister first, and pulled away. He was surprised and he stood up. Before he could beg for Harriet to keep this quiet, she was screaming, "BROTHER! I found them snogging in your bedroom."

John and the rest of the party rushed to the room to confront the couple. Mycroft and Lestrade both blushed, their faces turning beet red. John scolded, "In my bedroom? Really? You know I have to sleep in here? Now I won't be able to because I'll be thinking about you two getting all nasty, ON MY BED!" The little doctor flailed his arms with stress as he spoke.

"You're gay?" was Sherlock's only concern.

Mycroft, being the independent older brother he always had been, didn't directly reply to his younger sibling. He simply grabbed Lestrade's wrist and pulled him toward the door, splitting the crowd as he waltzed out. The DI trailed behind him, confused. Mycroft shouted, "We'll be off now."

Nobody wanted to stick around and awkwardly imagine what Mycroft and Lestrade were doing … so the party ended abruptly. As soon as the last guests were seen out the residents of 221B retired to their beds.


	8. Liar

Charlotte was an advanced toddler, but her father had set higher standards for her, impossible standards. John praised her, and Sherlock was proud, but he still expected so much more. At the age of two, she could form sentences and carry out simple conversations. When she turned three she could already define the words "deduction" and "murder". In her third year she also learned the names of some muscles and bones on that doll Molly had given her, which quickly became her favorite toy. At four, she could read a picture book to herself. At that age, when someone asked, "Who's your father?" Her exact response would always be, "I have two dads. Detective Sherlock and Dr. John."

Charlotte had grown fast in five short years. Her hair was dark and curly like her fathers. She spoke very well for her age and it was quite obvious that she was intelligent. On more than one occasion she had heard a word just once and it had become a normal part of her vocabulary. One day, shortly after she started primary school, Charlotte had decided to confide in her fathers about the bullying inflicted on her during class. It was an average evening in 221B. John was entertaining Charlotte, sitting at the kitchen table drawing pictures with a rainbow of crayons. Sherlock was at the other end of the table, staring at something in a Petri dish under his microscope. Secretly, he wasn't focused on the evidence in the dish. He loved watching John and Charlotte, and he was peering over at them not looking through the lens. _As long as I have them, I don't need anything else, _he thought.

Out of the blue, the little girl looked up from her 'artwork' and asked, "Daddy John?"

"Yes Charlotte," John answered.

"The kids in my class say that they can't talk to me because I have two dads. They told me that their moms don't want them near me because my dads are gay. I told them that it is not true, but I don't know what it means. Did I lie? I hope I didn't lie. What does gay mean? Is it bad?" The little girl inquired.

John looked to Sherlock for guidance. Sherlock pretended to be focused on his work. John sighed. Then he turned to Charlotte and said, "Now, Charlotte, you know that most people have a mummy and daddy that love each other? Well, when someone has two daddys, the daddys are called gay. It's just another word for the two daddys being happy together." He quickly regretted his explanation, realizing it could easily apply to Sherlock and himself.

"Daddy John are you and Daddy Sherlock gay?" the girl tried to understand.

"No dear, but both of your dads love you very much." was the best response John could muddle together. He gently poked her on the nose as he stood up and said, "And don't you forget it!"

The little girl was confused, "So are you happy with Daddy Sherlock?" John turned at the door and smiled, "I am happy with him as my friend, but not in the way that the word gay means. We're a special kind of family Charlotte." Then he left the kitchen, abandoning confused Charlotte. Sherlock went back to pretending to work, but he was really buried deep in his personal thoughts.

Later that evening Charlotte was tucked into her bed, in the room she still shared awkwardly with her biological father. She was getting a bit to old to share a room with her father, but no other rooms were available in their flat on Baker Street. John had suggested they move to find better accommodations, but Sherlock was too attached to his current residence.

John was standing at the kitchen table drying off some dishes and trying to tidy the scientific tools Sherlock had left scatter around. Sherlock entered silently. John turned to face him, holding a teacup and a dishcloth in his hands. He looked down staring at it attentively. He appeared to be focused on his drying, which made it obvious to Sherlock that his mind was drifting. "John…" Sherlock whispered.

John looked up, but didn't speak.

"What you said to Charlotte earlier…" Sherlock began. He was having trouble finding words because he wasn't used to this sort of thing. He continued, "I mean… about… us…" He was still struggling.

"Whatever you are trying to say Sherlock, just say it," John nervously demanded.

Words weren't working, maybe actions would. Sherlock set his hands on the table, entrapping John. John was a bit shocked, but he didn't fidget. The detective leaned down and gently pressed his lips to the doctor's, then backed away.

Similar questions rushed through both of their heads, but of course they didn't realize that they thought mutually. _What just happened? Does he feel the same way? If he doesn't, should I lie and pretend I didn't enjoy it? Will this ruin our friendship? What's going to happen next? Isn't this completely illogical? _

Sherlock spoke first, "Gay rumors… completely ridiculous. That was just… wrong."

John mumbled, "Yes, ridiculous. How could they even think…?" He dropped the dishcloth and the teacup, letting them crash to the floor. He grabbed the back of Sherlock's head and pulled him close. The kiss that followed released years of tension. Tension that had been building up with each glance, each touch and each word they'd shared since they met.

Sherlock awoke in John's bed, with his arms wrapped around his flatmate. "John," he spoke softly.

"Yes Sherlock?" a barely awake John mustered.

"Am I crazy or last night, did we really…?" Sherlock spattered in confusion.

"You aren't crazy…" John whispered.

"Oh, just checking." Sherlock sighed with relief.

He pulled John close and kissed the top of his head.

The doctor proposed, "Sherlock, you must admit Charlotte is getting too old to share a room with her father. She's growing fast and you keep avoiding the fact that someday she really will need a room of her own. I was just thinking… you could share mine again sometime or all the time, if you'd like… For Charlotte's sake."

Sherlock smirked, "I'd like that, for Charlotte's sake of course."

John said, "Now you've got to let me out, I have to go make breakfast."

"Oh of course…" Sherlock regretfully loosened his grip.

John entered the kitchen to find Charlotte already at the kitchen table, staring at his laptop. He was puzzled, "Charlotte, why are you already awake? What are you doing?"

The girl had already been awake for hours, investigating. She kneeled on top of a chair to reach the laptop, typing rapidly. Charlotte, stilling staring at the screen, elaborated, "Daddy John, you lied to me. When I woke up in the middle of the night with bad dreams, Daddy Sherlock was not in his bed so I went looking for him. I thought maybe he wasn't sleepy and he was working on a case like he does sometimes. I couldn't find him anywhere… so I slowly opened the door to your room. Daddy Sherlock was hugging you in your bed! So I asked some people on the computer if daddys who hug at night are gay and they said yes. I _deduce_ that you told a lie Daddy John!" She told her story with great dramatic emotion.

"You're right Charlotte, and I'm sorry. It won't happen again," John apologized. He decided it was best not to confuse the girl and explain that he and Sherlock had previously not been open about their feelings.

"That is not all Daddy John! I e-mailed Mycroft and Lestrudle! I asked them if you are gay. They said they are and that you aren't. So I told them you were hugging Daddy Sherlock in bed. I still have no replies on that. I will wait," Charlotte carried on.

"Charlotte, you can't just discuss this with people. It's a family matter that stays within the family," John scolded.

"Mycroft is family, he's Daddy Sherlock's brother. Lestrade is like family, he lives with Mycroft," Charlotte pleaded.

"Of course, but they don't know about me and Daddy Sherlock yet. It's kind of a big surprise. You wouldn't want to spoil the big surprise," John corrected.

Charlotte stood on the chair and said, "Surprise? Then WE SHOULD HAVE A PARTY! You can tell everyone how much you love Daddy Sherlock. I'll invite Auntie Molly, and Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft and Lestrudle… And all my dolls will come too! We'll eat cake and sing happy songs! It's going to be fun!"

The doctor rolled his eyes. He responded, "No Charlotte… we're not going to have a party."

Sherlock waltzed in, stretching his arms and yawning. "A party sounds like a grand idea dear! But I don't think that's what John wants… and I don't think we'll be able to convince him otherwise."

_**BONUS:**_

**Charlotte's Post On "wiki-answers":**

_I am five years old and I live in London and my daddys say that they are not gay but last night I saw them hugging in bed are they gay?_

[[ if you search for this question, my friend Lisa actually posted it online ;) ]]

**Actual response from a real user:**

_Possibly, but if so they don't want you to know (or they're not sure how to explain it). Parents are allowed to have a few secrets. Give them a few years.  
><em>

**Charlotte's e-mails to Mycroft and Lestrade:**

Charlotte:_ Are my daddys gay? - CH_

Mycroft: _No. Who taught you that word? - MH_

Lestrade: _They say they aren't. ;) - GL_

Charlotte: _Well last night I saw them hugging in bed. -CH_

Mycroft: _Oh god I hope you mean just hugging. – MH_

Lestrade:_ Gay. I knew it. - GL_


	9. Brothers

_**Authors Note: You guys keep on asking for it, and I'll keep it coming! I adore Charlotte and I can't wait to see how her life unfolds. I'm really enjoying writing this fic. Thanks for your support everyone!**_

John Watson was never one for enjoying parties, and the previous party at Baker Street, 4 years ago, had come to a rather odd ending. Yet on further thought about that previous party, (and how it ended with two men snogging in his room) he was beginning to like the idea of another party…. as long as he and Sherlock were the ones who ended up snogging in his room this time. He decided Sherlock and Charlotte could have a gathering if they really wanted to, but they were in charge of planning it.

Charlotte was very excited to plan a party, it was the first time her fathers were hosting a party she would be able to remember. She had put herself in charge of decorating the flat, even though John had insisted that decorations were not necessary. Sherlock ordered some desserts from a bakery down the street, hoping his brother would enjoy the pastries.

The petite girl wanted to make tea, but John told her to stay away from the stove. When he wasn't looking, she put a kettle on to boil. She had seen him turn on the stove many times before and knew exactly how it worked. "Charlotte, didn't I tell you to stay away from the stove? You will burn yourself!" John cried.

Charlotte smiled, "Sorry Daddy John. I just didn't want you to have to do it. I can do it myself!"

John shook his head, "Ask Sherlock or me for help next time okay?"

Charlotte nodded and replied, "Yes father." Then she skipped off to finish hanging the paper chains she had made. Ironically, she had made the chain follow a rainbow pattern, not realizing the fitting symbolism.

The guests due to attend were the same as Charlotte's first birthday, Mycroft, Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson, Mrs. Hudson, Molly and Harriet, but this time, Harriet was bringing Clara along. (They were back together now that Harriet was finally TRULY sober.) They all arrived in a timely manner, and filled the flat to the brim.

When everyone had taken a seat, Sherlock stood in front of the small crowd to make his announcement. John hid himself in a corner, wishing he could disappear. He thought, _This isn't necessary._

Sherlock began, "So you are all probably wondering why we called you here!"

Mycroft interrupted, "Nope. Not at all."

Sherlock was sincerely taken aback. John rolled his eyes. Sherlock rebutted, "But Mycroft… how could you know? I didn't tell you yet."

Mycroft winked and said, "I'm your big brother. Big brothers know these kinds of things. I've known all along. And of course, I have my sources to confirm my suspicions." He looked over to Charlotte, who was sitting on top of the table, attempting to match the height of her fathers' friends. Mycroft had been referring to her messages.

Everyone else at the party seemed to be confused and distracted. Anderson just wanted to eat something and leave. Lestrade just wanted to get home so he could have some private time with Mycroft. Donovan was just regretting that she'd showed up in the first place. Molly sat twiddling her thumbs, bored. Mrs. Hudson was wondering why she was missing her favorite television show for this. Harriet and Clara just sat awkwardly, their thoughts unclear. Charlotte sat up on the table, smiling.

Sherlock, after pausing to think for a moment, asked, "By sources… you mean to tell me that my daughter tattled on me to my older brother? How? When? What?"

The displeased guests moaned, fed up with this pointless babble. Anderson cracked, "Come on Sherlock, just tell us what this is all about so we can get out of here!" For once, everyone else agreed with Anderson, nodding with approval. Sherlock was now unsure of how he had planned to word his speech. He attempted to mutter something, but failed.

John was just as frustrated as everyone else and decided this could not go on any longer. "We finally gave in. We're gay, ok?" He barked.

After letting their initial reactions set it, each guest laughed a bit.


	10. Boyfriend

**Authors Note: I don't think this fanfiction could be any gayer. If you're still here, thanks. That's all.**

For the rest of the evening Mycroft and Lestrade made it their goal to antagonize Sherlock and John. Mycroft spat clichés and insults, while Lestrade acted as a giggling wingman. Sherlock rolled his eyes at each stupid remark then retaliated, but John became rather defensive. At some point amid the squabbling, Anderson and Donovan had just walked out. One might believe that the rest of the guests were also interested in leaving, but Harry, Clara, Molly and Mrs. Hudson were actually entertained by the bickering brothers and their boyfriends. One might also wonder what exactly the brothers were saying. At some point Mycroft had said, "Looks like my dearest brother finally decided to come out! Congrats, really. I am much prouder than mother would have been. You know she would be displeased… I guess you're no longer my little virgin brother. Oh, how time flies. Was the sex great? Probably not, John's not exactly the type…"

John rushed to cover Charlotte's ears; he saw that sexual part coming. Sherlock paused then replied with, "Well, I suppose being gay runs in the family!"

Mycroft stuttered, "I'm not gay." Lestrade twitched.

"Oh really? Is that what you tell Lestrade every night?" Sherlock barked. John tried to calm him down, but still gripped Charlotte's head to cover her ears.

Mycroft remarked, "For your information brother, I'm bisexual and there's a difference!"

Charlotte tried to wriggle free of John's grip. She whined, "Daddy John let me go I wanna hear Uncle Mycroft and Daddy Sherlock talking!" He resisted her squirming, but eventually she broke free and ran to Molly's lap.

Mycroft continued rambling on about Sherlock's sexuality, but kept inappropriate terms to a minimum when he realized his niece was listening.

Charlotte looked up at Molly and asked, "Molly, Mycroft makes it seems like it's bad that my daddies love each other. Is it bad? Are the kids at school right is it bad for daddies to be gay?"

Molly smiled and remarked, "Oh it's fine Charlotte. Mycroft just wants to tease Sherlock. That's what big siblings are for."

Charlotte tilted her head in confusion and asked, "Well then why don't I have a big sister to mock me? Or a little sister for me to tease?"

Molly replied, "Well I think your daddies want to devote all their attention on you! If you had a sister, they would have to spend time with her too! Although… it's quite nice to have a sibling around."

Charlotte was beginning to understand, but she was still curious. She admitted, "Maybe if I had a sister, even a mean one, I wouldn't feel so lonely…"

Molly looked around, unsure of what the proper response was. Mycroft and Sherlock were still disputing, while Lestrade and John made an effort to keep them in line. The detective's brother made some remark about the rainbow streamers, Sherlock bit back in a defensive manner. The argument continued. Harry and Clara laughed and made ridiculous comments about the brothers' fight. Mrs. Hudson seemed content sipping her tea on the other side of the room.

Miss Hooper gathered her thoughts and said, "You shouldn't feel lonely Charlotte. There are lots of people who love you."

Charlotte shook her head and corrected, "But the kids at school don't want to talk to me."

Molly gave the little girl a hug and whispered, "It's alright Charlotte. You have all of us. We all love you."

Tears dripped down the girl's face. Sherlock heard her whimpers and fell silent in the middle of rebutting one of Mycroft's stupid jeers. The detective looked over at Molly, concerned he asked, "Molly… Why is my daughter in tears?"

Molly sighed, "She's lonely."

"Charlotte, it's alright," he grabbed the youngster and held her tightly in his arms for a brief moment. He set her down again, and then asked, "What makes you say that, love?"

The girl wiped her eyes and mumbled, "Oh nothing. I'm okay Daddy Sherlock. I don't know what made me so upset."

Things were awkward for a brief moment then Harriet broke the silence. Her voice was thunderous. She grumbled, "So what are you defining your relationship as? Just in case you know… I'd need to tell someone sometime…"

"No Harry I already told you, you're not going to tell the press about this."

John gulped.

Harriet made excessive motions with her hands as she called, "I can see the tabloids now: _Sister of Famous Detective's Companion Reveals All The Inside Secrets!_"

John snarled, "No way Harry. You'll exaggerate everything just because you want to be popular. Clara, tell my sister that she's crazy!"

Clara shrugged and believed, "I think it would be kind of neat to see her name in one of those gossip magazines. I'm not saying I support exaggerations though!"

Sherlock budged in, "Seriously? You people actually support that kind of invasive behavior from the paparazzi? No one is telling the tabloids anything! I've been staying out of the news lately and I'd like to keep it that way."

Harry groaned and asked, "Then for my personal inquiry…?"

John stuttered, "Well um… I… uh… we're…"

Sherlock clarified, "He's my boyfriend."


	11. Friend

On a particularly chilly, but sunny afternoon, a certain ex-army doctor led a small child through the streets of London. He held her hand tightly, and in his other hand he carried a bag of groceries. They were on their way home from an uneventful trip to the supermarket, and Charlotte was eager to get home. She was wearing a little coat that appear to be almost a replica of Sherlock's, with a navy blue scarf to match.

The little girl gently yanked at John's arm and shouted, "Look Daddy John!" She let go of his hand and ran to the window of a small shop. John turned in the direction the girl was now running. He looked up at the shop's sign. It was a pet store, and the sign in the window read: _Puppies waiting to be adopted._

"What are you looking at dear?" He asked.

She pressed her nose to the glass and pointed. In the window there was a litter of puppies. They were Bulldogs, all very tiny and rather wrinkled. Most of them were sleeping, but one was awake. He pawed at the window right below Charlotte. His eyes shown black and shiny, and his coat was tanned. "Daddy, oh please can I just go look at him? I want to give him a hug! He looks lonely!"

Charlotte was right the puppy seemed unaccompanied. _He wants to play, and all the other puppies are just being lazy. He's dying for some action. He's so alone. _John realized. He grabbed Charlotte's hand again, pulling her through the door and into the little pet shop.

The man in the store let Charlotte hold the bull pup for a long while. The girl giggled as the canine licked her face. John made a split decision. He was going to take the dog home and he didn't care what Sherlock might think.

The pair and the new puppy arrived at the flat later that afternoon. Sherlock was lying on the sofa staring toward the ceiling. It was clear that he was deep in thought, but the sound of a tiny bark startled him. He rose slowly into a sitting position. He looked from John to Charlotte, and from Charlotte to the dog she gripped in her arms. Then he mumbled, "What… is… that… thing?"

His daughter lifted the puppy up in his direction. She smiled and remarked, "It's my new best friend!"

Sherlock turned to John, expecting a real answer.

"Sherlock please let her keep him. Bulldogs are small and I'm positive she'll learn something about responsibility by caring for him. Plus… he seemed so lonely. I was drawn to him for some reason, possibly because reminded me of someone. He needed somebody to love," John explained.

Sherlock cackled, "Yourself John."

The doctor blinked and blurted, "What?"

The detective giggled like a giddy schoolgirl. He replied, "The canine reminds you of the person you were before you met me. Think about how you just described him."

John contemplated Sherlock's words, but before he could muster a response, Sherlock interrupted. He pointed to the girl, now on the other side of the room and whispered, "Look John."

Charlotte appeared to be happier than ever before. She was sitting with her legs crossed, the puppy jumping up and down across her lap. She giggled each time he fell off and landed on the floor, only to get back up and do it all over again.

Sherlock did not need to think any longer. He had made up his mind. He blustered, "Fine, she can keep the dog!"

It was hard to tell who was more excited, but it was both clear they were shocked by how accepting the detective had suddenly become. He leaned toward Charlotte and asked, "So have you and Daddy John discussed any names for the puppy yet?"

Charlotte shook her head. Then she replied, "No. I want to call him Gladys."

Sherlock and John both laughed for amount. The little girls cheeks flushed red. She quivered, "What did I do wrong?"

The doctor replied, "Nothing Charlotte… its just Gladys is a girl's name and this puppy is a boy."

The girl frowned, "Oh… I just like it because it sounds happy, that's all."

John suggested, "How about we call him Gladstone? That sounds a bit like Gladys. And it includes the word 'glad', which is probably why 'Gladys' sounds like happy to you. It's actually quite a nice name. And…"

Charlotte giggled as her father rambled on reasons why Gladstone was the perfect substitute for Gladys. Even Sherlock had to admit John's ramblings were becoming trite. Charlotte interrupted, "Perfect. Gladstone will be his name."

Sherlock jumped up and shouted, "Alright then my dear family, let's go purchase Gladstone a proper collar with his name!"

Charlotte, with the dog in her arms, followed her fathers as they bound out the flat door.


	12. Awareness

Sherlock was lying flat on his back, taking up much more than half of the bed with his limbs spread in every direction. His mind also drifted every which way, his thoughts branching off and searching through file after file of stored information. The sheets entangled him like a fish caught in a net, but he didn't mind. This behavior was nothing new, because whenever Sherlock couldn't sleep he left his mind run wild, ignoring the man lying beside him. Like always, John struggled to fall asleep while the detective stretched to fill as much space as his lean body possibly could. But the doctor really didn't mind, it was worth it just to be this close to Sherlock.

On this particular evening Sherlock decided to voice some of his thoughts to John, who was desperately striving to rest. He turned his head slightly to the side so he faced the back of John's head. Next, he whispered to gain his partner's attention, "John."

John rolled over and groaned, "Yes Sherlock, what do you need?"

Sherlock mumbled, "As soon as possible… I want you to adopt her."

John, who was completely lost, asked, "What are you talking about?"

"I want us to officially share custody of Charlotte. Just in case something would ever happen to me. I lead a dangerous life, and I worry about her future constantly. What if I die? You're the only person I'd ever trust with her besides myself, as you already know," Sherlock admitted, "And as you might not already know…" He quickly muttered under his breath, "I love you."

John smiled. He replied, "Sherlock I know. I've always known. I've been aware; you've just been sacred to admit it. And of course I can make it official… whatever you want. But don't talk like that, I can't stand the thought of you disappearing again."

Sherlock continued, drifting slightly from the original topic, "I really mean it, I love you, John. No human being has ever fascinated me the way you do. I can watch you sleep for hours, and it never gets boring."

This new development bewildered John. Sherlock, eyes filled with longing, carried on, "When you have nightmares, I can see your eyes fluttering back and forth even though they're shut . Sometimes you shake and I can't bare it so I grab you and hold you close. I know how ridiculous it seems, but I feel like maybe if you sense my presence your bad dreams will go away. Then there are other times when you whisper things. Sometimes, you even say my name, which is rather adorable."

John had nightmares often, but ever since he began sharing a bed with Sherlock they had seemed shorter. He growled, "ADORABLE? I'm not adorable! I was a soldier! I've killed people!"

Sherlock laughed, "Shut up John. You're adorable to me, you bloody idiot. Good night."

John snarled, "No Sherlock seriously, I'm not adorable."

But Sherlock was already dozing off to sleep.

John sighed and admitted, "Fine… I can be adorable, but only to you." He grabbed Sherlock and whispered, "Good night."


	13. Music

**Author's Note: I'm a band nerd, if you knew that, you have seen this chapter coming. Well, Sherlock plays violin; his daughter should pick up an instrument too. (By the way, this chapter is dedicated to my friend Kairi. French Horns, whoa! Lisa, don't be jealous your chapter is coming soon!)**

Sherlock did not want to pressure his daughter into taking up an instrument, but when she turned nine he decided to suggest that she try music out. One afternoon, he walked her into a crammed little music store, where instruments of all kinds filled the room. The wall on the left was completely lined with woodwinds, while the one on the right was lined with brass instruments. In the middle of the store, percussion instruments were muddle about in no particular order. Above the counter, string instruments hung on the wall. Sherlock drifted towards this group of strings, hoping his daughter would follow in his footsteps and pick up violin. Of course, Charlotte took little interest in the dull wooden things suspended in the center of the store. She darted towards the brass instruments; her eyes fixed on something silver and shining. Her father, noticing her change of focus, heaved a sigh and followed her.

Charlotte gazed at the shiny instrument, picturing herself playing it, but unsure of exactly what it was. Sherlock asked, "You like that one. Don't you?" He pointed to the instrument she desired. It was made of shiny brass, and the pipes of it were intricate and twisted, making it seem like the whole thing unraveled could reach across an ocean.

Charlotte smiled. She requested, "Oh yes, father! But what is it and what does it sound like?"

A little white-haired man waddled across the store in the direction of the father and daughter, muttering something to himself all the while. He reached them and exclaimed, "Aw, yes the French horn! My son played French horn for many years. He's very successful in music now! Well, much more successful than me at the very least… although I'm just a retired teacher." It was clear from the way he spoke that he was American, and he also easily drifted off topic.

Charlotte looked up, "The French horn? I've heard of that before! But what exactly does it sound like? Is it pretty?"

The man removed a phone from his pocket and played a song featuring the French horn. The little girl giggled and Sherlock smiled, because it was a beautiful tune. The man paused the music and continued, "It's the hardest instrument there is! If you're up for the challenge, I teach here once a week. Sort of a job to keep me busy during my retirement. I can even loan you a horn, just until you're positive you want to keep playing."

Sherlock asked, "Would you like that Charlotte?"

Charlotte boasted, "Yes! I'm up for the challenge! I'm the daughter of Sherlock Holmes and I can do anything if I put my mind to it!"

Sherlock beamed brightly.

The day after her first lesson, Charlotte was practicing in her room. She attempted to play a scale, blowing into the horn and puffing her cheeks even though she knew she wasn't supposed to. She finally made a small noise, which sounded more like a hiccupping dinosaur than the sweet sound of a French horn.

Sherlock and John were working on a case in the kitchen. Papers cluttered the table, and Sherlock was clutching his head with his hands. He mumbled, "John! I can't focus with this awful noise!"

John smirked and said, "Sherlock, she's just learning give her some time!"

A deep sound like a dying seal rang from the girl's room, followed by some high-pitched resemblance of an elephant's squeal.

Sherlock snarled, "I cannot possibly solve crimes with this racket!" Gladstone, who had been sleeping on the kitchen floor, rolled over and moaned as the uproar awoke him.

John replied, "You're the one who signed the girl up for horn lessons."

Sherlock grumbled, "I didn't know she'd sound this awful!"

John muttered, "Calm down Sherlock, she's only had one lesson! I'm sure you sounded this awful when you first took up violin! I learned clarinet in school, and I remember how terrible I played at first." The fat bulldog barked loudly, and toddled off to the girl's room. He was desperately seeking the source of the noise.

Sherlock lean back in his chair and covered his ears. He whispered, "I don't know how much of this I can take."

John walked around the table and leaned down to give Sherlock a kiss on the cheek, calming him down a bit. The doctor scolded, "It's okay, just give her some time." Then he leaned in closer to the detective's ear, "Not to change the subject but… I talked to Molly and she can watch Charlotte tonight. We're still going to get dinner right? And afterwards I was thinking maybe…"

A loud squeal from their daughter's new instrument interrupted him. John barked, "You're right, we have to do something about that thing!"

Sherlock smirked. Of course he was right.

A week later a package appeared in the mail. Sherlock picked it up, confused. John took it from him; cut it open, and revealed its contents. He held up the small electronic device. It was a French horn mute with head phones attached. He said, "So you don't have to listen to her playing."

Sherlock laughed, and then said, "My John, always so smart!"


	14. Neighbor

Charlotte, now eleven, saw the new neighbors first. They were moving in just a few flats down the street, and she'd spent all day standing outside the door of 221B watching them take things out of a truck. Her little coat collar was turned up mysteriously, even though John had admonished her for copying her detective father. She wore a bright blue scarf around her neck to fight of the chill air.

So far, she'd deduced that they were of a low-middle class socio-economic standing, and that the two parents had three children. Two teenage girls and a boy about her age, just as she predicted from their belongings, appeared shortly after she began the parents.

One special skill little Charlotte had developed was lip-reading. Even from a distance, she could establish the basis of a conversation. Charlotte couldn't take her eyes off the boy. She followed every word he said, but did not even bother to follow the other half of the discussion he was having with his sisters. His hair was light and just a bit red. He wasn't thin, but he wasn't fat either. Suddenly, he looked up. Their eyes met briefly and then Charlotte darted back into her flat, afraid of what the boy might thing of her. The door slammed behind her as she bounded up the stairs.

Before she could make it to the top, she heard a knock on the door. She turned around and ran to it. She slowly opened it just a bit. The new boy stood outside beaming. She opened the door wider and smiled. He held out his hand, "Hi! I'm Johnny!"

Charlotte giggled, as her face reddened. She shook the boys hand quickly. The lad tilted his head in confusion. He asked, "Why is that funny?"

Charlotte replied, "Well, it's just that one of my dads is named John."

The little boy was even more confused. He quacked, "ONE of your dads?"

Charlotte laughed again, brightly. She bluntly answered, "Yeah, I have two dads."

Johnny took a second the process this new idea, but almost instantly decided he didn't mind. He was beginning to like the spunky little girl, and didn't care whether she had a mom and a dad or two dads. "What's your name?" He wondered.

Charlotte spoke, "Charlotte Delilah Watson-Holmes. They added in the Watson element when Daddy John adopted me several years ago. I regularly write it as just Holmes though… particularly on exams for school."

Johnny blinked. His eyelashes were long and dark. Freckles surrounded his nose. He had never heard a young girl speak in such an official manner before. He was especially surprised by her vast vocabulary. He croaked, "You talk like a grown up!"

Charlotte explained, "Well I don't really have friends my own age. I stopped going to normal school when it became too dull for me. Not like my classmates paid attention to me anyway. My Daddy's teach me things now. I help them solve crimes sometimes... but I'm not supposed to tell anyone that bit."

Johnny smirked and smoothly questioned, "Then why'd you tell me?"

Charlotte was a bit flustered. Something about this boy excited her. She muttered, "Um no reason… See you later… Bye." She slammed the door shut and darted up the stairs.

John was sitting in his armchair reading the paper. Sherlock was lying on the sofa, lost in his mind palace again. John asked, "What was all that ruckus dear? I heard the door slam…"

Charlotte stumbled, "Oh, nothing Daddy John. Just the new neighbors, I met them."

John looked up and said, "Oh really? Are they nice?"

Charlotte replied, "I only met their youngest son. He seems fine."

John smiled then suggested, "Well, maybe you can be his friend!"

Charlotte blushed, "Sure father… whatever." She darted off to her room.

Sherlock opened one eye and looked over at his flatmate. "Sounds like Charlotte might like this boy more than a friend… should I worry?"

John laughed. He responded, "No. Puppy love is a normal thing. Quite adorable actually…" Sherlock shook his head and went back to thinking. John turned down to his paper.  
>Meanwhile in Charlotte's room, the girl fell on her bed and grabbed her hair in her hands. Her dog jumped up to sit next to her. She looked down at him. Charlotte inquired, "Oh Gladstone, I'm such a failure! Johnny will never like me if I act this way! It doesn't matter… he probably wants a normal girl. Not a girl like me. I spend all my time reading books, memorizing body parts, pissing people off and playing the French horn. I'm too abnormal!"<p>

The dog nudged her with his head and slobbered all over her leg. She chuckled, "Ah thanks Gladstone! Now I'm upset and covered in your spit! Let's watch Doctor Who, that always makes me feel better…" She clicked the remote that turned on the little telly she kept in her room and curled up under a fluffy blanket.


	15. Teenager

**Author's Note: Might contain errors, sorry! I was desperate to publish this as soon as possible. Forgive me? **

Johnny and Charlotte became friends fast. Soon, it seemed like Johnny spent almost all of his time at 221B. After school he would always appear at the door of the flat that Charlotte shared with her fathers, often letting himself in through the unlocked door. He usually sat down with Charlotte at the table in the kitchen or in the living room. Silently, he watched her doing schoolwork or solving a crime with her fathers. He was mesmerized by her intelligence, and often busted out complements at the most inappropriate times. Charlotte enjoyed the flattery and blushed at every affectionate word.

Quite frequently John would joke, "So have you started forwarding your mail Johnny? You practically live here now!"

Sherlock would roll his eyes or growl; displeased with the constant attention his daughter and boyfriend gave to this "moron". He didn't want to admit to himself that he actually liked the boy's company.

4 years flew by this way. Charlotte turned 15, so did Johnny. The pair became closer with each passing day, but still nothing more than friends. One afternoon, Johnny was watching carefully as Charlotte dissected a frog. She gently lifted each organ out and set them on a tray. They splashed down onto the metal in a slimy pile. Johnny tried to contain himself, but he couldn't help it any longer. He ran to the trashcan and threw up. Charlotte giggled a bit. He looked up at her with a dirty glare. She began to cackle even louder.

"What? What's so funny about me vomiting?" He asked, a disgusting slither of yellow vomit dripping down his chin.

Charlotte pointed to it and was unable to explain why she was laughing, because she struggled to gasp for air. Her confused fathers looked in from the other room. They both immediately began to chuckle at the ridiculous sight of the sick boy. Johnny lifted his arms in confusion.

It was getting quite ridiculous, so John, being the doctor in the house, decided to do something. He walked into the kitchen and inquired, "Are you ok? You've got a bit of vomit on your chin there…" The man handed the teenager a towel, which the lad instantly wiped across his own face. This removed any signs of his vomit.

Charlotte, who was finally able to speak again, said, "Johnny, it's okay!"

She clasped her arms around her frighten best friend.

Johnny mumbled, "I'm find now really… That's just… gross."

The girl smiled.

Sherlock's phone began to ring. It's vibration caused it to slide off the table. John caught the mobile before it crashed to the floor. He threw it to the detective, who caught it between his hands. Sherlock answered the call.

He spoke to the voice on the other end, "Oh, of course… I can be there straight away."

He looked over at his family and their guest.

"We agreed Charlotte could tag along some day… could that be today?" He questioned.

The voice on the line muttered something.

"Oh good. Can she bring a friend? John and I won't come unless they both can join us," He begged.

The voice mumbled something else, but reluctantly gave in to Sherlock's demands.

"Good, we'll be there in 10 minutes." He turned to the others and said, "The game is afoot! Let's go!"


	16. Twice

Sherlock sauntered toward the crime scene, boyfriend and teenagers in tow. Lestrade winced when he saw Sherlock's daughter and her slightly ginger friend. He whined, "Really Sherlock? I know I said they could come but…"

Sherlock blinked, titled his head and muttered, "Do you want me to leave?" Johnny felt like he was being a burden, but he didn't voice this to anyone.

The Detective Inspector sighed and said, "No, you really need to see this."

He led the group through the doors of a hotel, up the stairs, down a hallway and into a room. Lying on the bed were two identical girls, dressed like princesses, dead. They had long blonde hair that fell down the backs of their crimson gowns. Johnny felt like he was going to be sick again, he scooted over and hid behind Dr. Watson. Charlotte and Sherlock both smiled brightly.

Charlotte exclaimed, "Father, wouldn't you say this case is double the fun?"

Sherlock chuckled and replied, "Yes!"

The doctor rolled his eyes and stepped forward. The teenage boy who'd been hiding behind him was now exposed. He cringed now that he could clearly see the deceased girls.

John barked, "I love you both dearly, but you really can't get this excited when people die."

Johnny gulped, almost mimicking the doctor and said, "They're so young. They look like they're our age Charlotte. They can't be older than fifteen. Don't you feel just a bit sad that they're dead? They must have had dreams, just like you and me. And Mr. Holmes… what if someone took you daughter away right now? Would you want people giggling over her dead body?"

Everyone turned to stare at the lad. He grimaced, while Charlotte's smile quickly faded to a frown. Even Sherlock had lost the excited glimmer that usually lit his eyes when he was on a case.

The detective admitted, "You're right Johnny."

Johnny ordered, "Now, let's solve this case and than justice can be served. For the parents of these girls."

Watson let a small smirk cross his face. Johnny reminded him a bit too much of himself.

Sherlock, Charlotte and John examined the bodies while Johnny and Lestrade kept watch from a distance. After a moment John concluded, "They've been drugged, clearly. It appears as though they died from respiratory failure. Anderson should do further testing to see exactly what poison was used."

Sherlock turn to Charlotte, "What do you see dear?"

Charlotte provided, "Well, it appears as though these killings were symbolic. Identical twins in matching dresses as a double homicide, there must be a meaning. Also, the killer was clearly a man." She pointed to the markings on one of the girl's arms. "Large finger prints, the killer must have grabbed her tight in some sort of struggle."

Sherlock added, "Right, and the markings from his shoes on the carpet, clearly a size too large for a woman. We'll analyze this dirt and see what it can tell us about the murderer's previous whereabouts."

Johnny was astonished by the deductions the fathers and their daughter made from the little evidence that was available. He never would have thought that those bits of dirt on the ground were actually footprints, but now that he looked closer, he could see the outline of a shoe.

Sherlock's phone suddenly buzzed. He read aloud the text he had just received, "I'm back."

John flashed Sherlock a concerned look. For a moment, everything was silent. Johnny and Charlotte were confused, but didn't bother asking questions. Lestrade blurted, "Moriarty…"


	17. Night

Charlotte always thought best when she was walking the darkened nighttime streets of London. When she couldn't sleep because of her ever-running mind, she sneaked out of the house and to the roads. The city hummed to her in a special way. She felt connected to it. Some nights she even boarded the tube, riding the train lines back and forth for hours.

The evening after the twin case began, she strolled through the roadways, soaking in her surroundings. The entire time her father's stern advice rushed through her head. Sherlock had warned, "Don't go out alone at night! Moriarty is a dangerous man. He could snatch you up at any moment." Her dads had also explained an important part of their past that had previously been hidden from her. They finally told her the story of the fall.

Charlotte turned a corner and shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her long jacket. She pressed her chin into her scarf and continued walking with her head down. Her thoughts drifted. She imagined her fathers being a part, an image that was almost impossible to craft in her head. She imagined Sherlock plummeting off of a roof and letting John watch. She imagined John standing over Sherlock's grave, with his heart as empty as the coffin below. It was unbearable to even think that such a thing could possibly have occurred.

A man passing by bumped into her, causing her to fall backward. He ran, but dropped something from his pocket as he sprinted away. The small piece of white paper fluttered down right near her feet. She grabbed it as she stood back up. The simple piece of white lined paper was folded neatly. She carefully peeled it open.

It read:

"Dear Charlotte,

How's your little boyfriend? I heard he's particularly squeamish at crime scenes. How adorable his name is… Johnny! Correct? Reminds me a lot of your father John, obviously. Oh and your little dog… Gladstone, right? Where did you get that awful name? Well, did you like that little 'present' we left you at the hotel? It was a sort of 'see you soon' gift. Now you should get in the car. Just get in…

See you soon dear!"

She lifted her eyes from the page slowly. In front of her, a sleek black car loomed in the dark. The door opened by its self, and she slid into the seat. Her curiosity and fear outweighed her better judgment. The car rolled off into the night.


	18. Gone

Charlotte didn't come home. She didn't phone. She simply disappeared. No trace was left and no one had seen her for hours. Sherlock spent the entire day trying to find his daughter's whereabouts. Mycroft's eyes and ears were all over the city watching for any sign of the girl or Moriarty. Even Sherlock's homeless network was busy searching for the missing teenager.

After sunset, John's mobile received a text.

It read; _I've got the princess! When will all the king's men come save her? Or the king himself… that's preferred. _

Sherlock ripped it from the doctor's hands and stared at it for several moments. Though he had no real clues, he knew exactly who had sent this message. A grown man who references fairytales? Moriarty, so of course his first suspicions had been correct.

Later that night, Sherlock sent everything he had discovered in a mass e-mail to Mycroft, Lestrade and several others. He could no longer focus on deductions, his mind drifting to memories of his bubbly young daughter.

The detective sat silently in his darkened flat. Resting between his fingers was a cigarette, the first he'd smoked in fifteen years. Across from him sat John, who was staring at the glass of liquor in his hand. In less than one day, the two men had aged 100 years. The lines on their faces showed pure distress and anguish. "I should have never considered…" Sherlock choked, holding back tears. Even though he was unable to complete his train of thought, John knew what he meant. He regretted ever wanting Charlotte in the first place.

Sighing, John whispered, "Sherlock. Please don't say things like that. You needed her. We all needed her. Think of what she's done for all of us. Ask anyone, they'll tell you Charlotte changed them for the better."

A single tear rolled down Sherlock's face as he mustered, "I've always know it to be true. Caring is not an advantage. One sentence that's never failed me. I should have listened."

John set down his drink and stood up. He held his hand out, waiting for his flatmate to grasp it. Sherlock pressed his cigarette into the ashtray he'd stolen from Buckingham palace many years ago and grabbed John's waiting hand. The doctor pulled the detective up out of his chair and dragged him off to bed.

Tears streamed down Sherlock's face as he fell on to the bed, John lying next to him. John protectively wrapped his arms around Sherlock. He tried to stay strong, but with no luck. He too, began to weep uncontrollably. The detective whispered, "I don't know if this is a case I can solve."


	19. Blind

Johnny appeared at 221B the next morning. He rang the doorbell repeatedly, but had to wait a little over 15 minutes until the door finally opened. Sherlock stood in the doorway, wearing nothing but a sheet. Johnny looked him straight in the eye. He complained, "Excuse me Mr. Holmes, I don't mean to interrupt you… but three cops showed up at my house this morning. They wanted to know if I knew anything about Charlotte's whereabouts. I'm just a little confused. Why didn't you tell me she went missing?"

The detective ran his left hand through his hair, grasping his sheet with the other. He replied, "Listen Johnny, I know you're close to my daughter, but I didn't believe that you could provide me with information about her disappearance. Yesterday I spent the entire day going through my records about Moriarty, trying to trace his possible steps. I didn't have time to waste on telling you she was missing. Why do you care so much anyway?"

The boy blinked, holding back tears.

John appeared behind Sherlock, wearing a long-sleeved sweater and plaid pants. His attire contrasted greatly from that of the detective. He interrupted, "Sherlock, you're being cruel. We should have told Johnny straight away. It would have been the right thing to do."

Sherlock turned to face the doctor. He stared at his partner for a brief moment before remarking, "But why should it matter?"

John answered, "It amazes me that you can see so many things… but when it comes to love you're blind."

Sherlock stuttered, "So, you are saying that this boy has . . ._ feelings_ for our daughter?"

John responded, "Yes Sherlock, that's what I'm implying. Now go put your trousers on, please love." The doctor ushered his boyfriend up the stairs, then turned to Johnny and said, "Come inside Johnny."

Johnny blushed. He followed the doctor up the stairs and into the living room. They sat down in chairs across from one another. A moment later Sherlock appeared, fully clothed in his normal attire. Johnny stood up and blurted, "Please Mr. Holmes, let me help you. I can't rest until she's found."

Sherlock shook is head. He replied, "Johnny, I can't even focus right now. You'd just be another distraction."

John gave Sherlock a stern, disapproving glance.

Sherlock sighed. He couldn't resist giving in to that familiar glare. He decided, "Fine Johnny, you can stay here, but you have to be quiet when I need to think. Only speak when you're positive your input is necessary."

Johnny nodded and begged, "Promise me you'll find her. Please…"

Sherlock looked down at his feet. He didn't say anything.


	20. Sister

**Author's Note: Thank you to my faithful readers for sticking it out this long. Your reviews keep me going. I can't thank enough. This chapter is dedicated to Lisa; thanks for all the ideas and for letting me borrow your backwards name. **_**Now it's big, it's bold… and the plot will really unfold**_**. ;)**

Charlotte awoke to find herself in a dark room. She was gagged and bound to a chair. A spotlight illuminated to reveal a young woman, standing across the room, facing the cracked grey wall. She was dressed in a skin-tight black dress and her dark curly hair hung loose down below her shoulders. Her tights were a pattern of black roses and vines, and her dark colored boots were designed in a combat style.

"Ah, sleeping beauty awakes," uttered a hauntingly familiar voice.

Charlotte squirmed, trying to free herself from her ties, with no luck.

The voice spoke again, "Don't try that Charlotte Delilah Watson-Holmes. You're fastened in very well and if you escape we have to kill you. If you die, that ruins the plan. I have no idea what Uncle would do in that case…"

Charlotte tried to speak, but the gag was too tight.

The woman turned around. It was clear that she was actually a young girl no older than 15, somewhere around Charlotte's own age. Charlotte stared at the girl for a moment. _I know that face from somewhere_, the detective's daughter struggled to place the memory. Then, as if a bomb in her mind exploded, she remembered where she'd seen the face oh so many times before.

She realized… it was the image in _the mirror._

"Charlotte Delilah Holmes! You are the daughter of the infamous detective, Sherlock Holmes. Nice to finally meet you! Did you get my letter? Well you must have, I'm positive you did. Since the day of your, or actually our, birth I've been watching you. Everything you know, I know it all, too. All your memories, your thoughts, I share them. I've spent my life, waiting for this moment. The moment I become you. Daddies won't be able to tell the difference will they?" The girl in black shrugged her shoulders, twirled around and fluffed her hair as she spoke in the voice she'd stolen from Charlotte. She continued, "Oh don't sit there all confused. You're smarter than that. Don't be daft. Think! You know who I am."

Charlotte shut her eyes and shook her head violently, trying to remove the gag that prevented her from replying. The girl in black leaned in toward Charlotte, uncomfortably close, and whispered, "Now, now, No need to speak. I can explain everything. My dear sister…"

She jumped up with enthusiasm and carried on with her lecture, "Let me introduce myself. I'm Asil. Asil Pandorica Moriarty. Now, we will truly begin with our little fairytale! It's a story you know all too well I'm afraid. Once upon a time a great detective, Sherlock Holmes, decided he needed an heir. He desperately looked through all the surrogate mothers in London, but little did he know that the list he searched through was a fake. It did not matter which girl he picked, for his arch nemesis, Moriarty, was rigging the whole thing. Moriarty, you've heard of him, I'm sure. Sherlock's choice didn't matter. Moriarty's sister was going to be our mother, that way Moriarty would get all the details about our birth. That's why daddy was told that mother didn't want to meet him. He would have known that she was related to Moriarty, the family resemblance was rather uncanny. Moriarty was working out his great plan to kidnap the little prince or princess, but then he received a call from his dear sister. That's when he found out there would be twins. Twins, Charlotte… sort of like a fairytale. He came up with a brand new plan. He'd make sure Sherlock never found out about the second daughter. Moriarty has taught me everything I need to know to be you, because he raised me for this. He's made sure I see through all the lies Sherlock and John tell you. He's let me see the truth when your vision is blurred."

Charlotte's face showed a sort of unexplainable soreness. Her eyes watered, but her glare was of pity, not hate or pain.

Charlotte's twin reminisced, "You believe every word your dear fathers tell you, but Uncle Moriarty raised me well. He was the only father figure I had… When I was little he'd tell me great stories of his triumphs over Sherlock. And how his greatest victory would be me, as soon as I was ready. He's a bloody genius. Wait until you see it! You'll be in awe! It's because you're a doofus, just like our dear old dad. You're probably waiting to hear how the plan works. I would want to know, if I were in your shoes. Thank god I'm not, though. It's a pity you're going to spend your life in jail, you're pretty. After all, you did steal your looks from me." Her tone became jeering as she said, "Moriarty has a set of fake clues for Sherlock to deduce, so he'll think he's really finding you. The clues will lead him to me, his LONG lost little girl. He'll save me, take me home and shower me with love. John and Sherlock will never know that the real Charlotte is still being kept under the watchful eye of criminal mastermind Moriarty. You're wondering what I'll do once I've settled back into life. I'm going to murder your dads. Poison is my weapon of choice. When I'm sentenced, Moriarty will trade us out. I'll continue life with Uncle Jim. You'll spend your life in prison as the girl who killed the two people who loved her most in this world. Quite a brilliant ending isn't it? Happily ever after for me, not so much for you, but every fairytale has two sides and only one can win. I'm curious to hear what you think." The girl snapped her fingers and a man came out of the dark to remove Charlotte's gag.

Charlotte, now free to release her rage, shouted, "Moriarty's off his rocker. He's fed you nothing but lies since you're birth. Sherlock and John are the bravest, kindest and strongest people I've ever met. I'm not just saying that because they're my dads and I'm forced to look up to them. Even if they weren't the ones who raised me, I'd still admire them. There is still time for you! Give up this fake life with Moriarty and the woman who's probably not even your real mother! Stop living in a world of lies. Come with me and you can start over. The family will greet you with open arms. We can help you."

"You stupid, stupid girl! Idiot! I might not even be your twin! I can lie to you easily. You assume too much," the girl cackled.

"I'm not daft! I can see and hear. You're clearly a bloody clone of me!" Charlotte shouted in response.

Asil cackled, "Oh, guess I can't fool you that easily. By the way, mother's dead. She's been dead for years."

Charlotte looked at her sister with horror, "I didn't know… I'm sorry, but how can you possibly laugh at the death of your own mum?"

Asil sighed and replied, "She meant nothing. She was a moron anyway."

Charlotte felt like she was being strangled, but she knew it was just the words, nothing physical, that caused her hurt.

"Well, he'll be finding the clues now. It's time for the show. I better get dressed! Goodbye dear sister!" Asil dashed off to get ready, humming a familiar tune.


	21. Broken

**Author's Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Here we go again…**

It didn't take long for Sherlock to sort through the simple clues, once he gained his focus. He had some suspicions throughout the investigation, thinking the trail Moriarty left was much too easy to follow. In addition to sending notes with obvious clues, he'd also left physical evidence on every letter he sent. Was Moriarty slipping? Was he not the great criminal Sherlock had once come so close to failing against? Or was something deeper about to happen?

41 hours later Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Greg Lestrade, young Johnny and many of Scotland Yard's finest arrived at a darkened, abandoned warehouse somewhere in the outskirts of London. They broke down a huge garage door, and found a dark haired girl in a tattered blue dress tied up on the floor. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. The ropes that bond her hands had caused terrible markings to form on her skin as she tried to work the twine off her arms. Blood dripped from a gash on her forehead. She looked up. Johnny started to run toward her, Sherlock and John grabbed his arms to restrain him. He fought hard, screaming violently, "Charlotte!" Detective Inspector Lestrade approached her first, but by the time he reached her, she'd fallen unconscious, clearly drugged.

The girl awoke the next morning on a hospital cot. Sherlock and John stood over her bedside. Sherlock leaned in to hug her with tears in his eyes. He whispered, "My Charlotte…" She blinked, confused for a moment. Her name wasn't Charlotte. She had almost forgotten her mission, but then she remembered. She was Asil Moriarty, but now she had to take on the role of her twin sister, Charlotte Watson-Holmes.

As soon as they arrived home at Baker Street a constant flow of visitors came through the door to welcome back the great detective's daughter. After Asil was done greeting and hugging what felt like three hundred people, Sherlock suggested, "Charlotte, you should go to your room and rest." Asil liked the idea of having some time alone, because pretending to be her sister was already proving to be difficult. John walked with Asil to Charlotte's room. When they reached their destination, he turned to leave.

"I'm really glad you're home Charlotte. The flat was very empty without you and Sherlock was a mess. Who am I kidding? I was a mess too! Well if you need anything Charlotte, we're right here," the doctor murmured as he pulled the door shut.

Asil stood alone in her twin sister's room. She looked around, unable to comprehend the overwhelming tremble rushing through her body. She was angry. This could have been her life. This flat, this room, this bed, this family, this dog, … it could have all been hers. She picked a picture frame up off the dresser. John and Sherlock were smiling proudly from underneath the glass, standing behind a young Charlotte as she held up her new puppy. The wrinkled dog's dark little nose and tiny black eyes ripped at Asil's heart. She set the picture down and held up another. In this photo, Charlotte and John stood with a thin redheaded boy. They were opening Christmas presents. Why wasn't she in this photo? Why had Moriarty taken this life from her?

At first, Asil didn't understand the factors that had initiated her change of heart. Then it set it. She knew exactly why she felt this way:

It was Sherlock and John embracing her after she was "rescued", so happy to see their little girl again. It was the excited little bulldog, jumping up in her lap and licking her face. It was Mrs. Hudson bringing her a red velvet "welcome home" cake, Charlotte's favorite flavor. It was Uncle Mycroft stopping by to give a gift, another umbrella, to his beloved niece. It was Charlotte's white-haired music instructor, handing her a brooch shaped like a little French horn. It was Molly reminding her, "If you ever need to talk about girl stuff, I'm here." It was Charlotte's dearest friend Johnny, sharing his first kiss with the wrong girl. It was the love, something she'd always lacked in her relationship with Uncle Moriarty.

Asil fell to the floor on her knees with tears rushing down her cheeks. Hearing her whimpering, John and Sherlock came rushing in to aid her, causing her to go into a greater fit of sentiment. _They care about their daughter so much_, she thought. They sprinted to Asil's side, kneeling next to her with looks of utter despair. _They're so gloomy, just because they think their daughter is miserable. I just want to tell them. I can't do this… I'm NOT CHARLOTTE. I'm not your little girl! I'm the worst person you'll ever meet, and I've been sent to kill you. I was made to destroy you. Let me cry; oh please just let my cry. _John took Asil's left hand and Sherlock took her right hand. "We love you and everything is going to be okay. He can't hurt you anymore," Sherlock whispered as he ran his rings through her dark curls. The affection from Charlotte's loving father was practically killing Asil; it caused a horde of tears to fall even faster down her already soaked cheeks.

The next morning Asil awoke neatly tucked into Charlotte's bed. All she could remember from the night before was Sherlock and John holding her close as she cried, but her tears had blurred her vision. Or had the tears cleared it? She felt like crying again. She couldn't, because all of her tears had simply vanished.


	22. Pandora

Living a nightmare, how else could she describe it? She was bound and gagged in the corner of an undersized room with a single light bulb hanging over her head. The ground she laid on was drab stone, cold and hard. Her curls were greasy and flattened. Her eyes, that once shined a brilliant blue, now appeared gray and morose, rimmed with dark circles from her lack of sleep. Two weeks, it had been two weeks. She knew this because each day at the same time a man in a designer suit would come through the door. He carried with him a silvery folding chair, a small meal on a tray and a complete book of Hans Christian Andersen's fairytales. He read for a little more than an hour, and then he folded the chair up and walked away, leaving the meal on the ground in front of her. Some one else came in shortly after, removed her gag so she could eat the minuscule meal, than tied her up when she was finished.

* * *

><p>Asil, still pretending to be Charlotte, had gone off to bed early. John was desperate to confront Sherlock, who'd been acting strange ever since the family was reunited several weeks earlier, finally now was his chance. The detective was seated in his favorite chair, lost in his mind palace.<p>

"Sherlock, what's going on? You've been acting strange ever since we brought Charlotte home," John presented.

Sherlock gave a brief maniacal laugh-snort.

"You've been smoking again. I know you slipped up while Charlotte was gone, which was understandable, but she's back now. You said when she was born you'd never touch one of those foul things again, for her sake. But I smell cigarettes on your coat everyday. Don't think you can hide it from me. When we kiss it tastes like I'm snogging an ash tray," the doctor complained.

Sherlock laughed again and bitterly moaned, "_Charlotte_… right. None of you have noticed. You idiots! You're all blind! That girl is not Charlotte." He immediately regretted the harsh manner with which he scolded his closest friend.

John was shocked, he shouted, "Are you going mad? She's your daughter, no _our daughter_. How could you possibly say something like that?"

"John, there have been signs since she came back. I noticed that she was a bit scared to be here, as if she'd never met us before. The way her heart raced when I leaned in to hug her at the hospital. She wasn't comfortable being back at home when we arrived at Baker Street. That was odd. How about when Johnny kissed her? Charlotte would have been so please to know he actually liked her back. She barely even responded! In fact, she broke down in tears that very evening. She hasn't played the French horn since either. That was always her favorite thing to do when she needed to think. And the clues John, Moriarty would not leave such simple clues," Sherlock explained.

"She's just been through something traumatic, of course she's scared. She probably thinks someone else wants to snatch her up just because you're her father. Your speculations are absurd," John mustered.

"Fine don't believe me, but I found this in her room," Sherlock held out a small bottle of pills to John and continued, "I tested one at the lab. They are Cyanide. A popular poison, you've seen it on the telly. Spys use it in situations when they have no choice but to kill themselves. It's obvious to forensics teams, and the killer is sure to be caught, but for a first time murderer it'd be a simple weapon. And maybe this killer wants to be caught. I have no idea how she expects to force this down our throats though..."

John refused, "Sherlock! Now I'm positive you're insane. Where did you really get these pills? Do you have a point you're trying to prove by tricking me?"

Sherlock rolled the orange pill bottle between his fingers, staring at the little red cylinders as they crashed against the sides of the container. He spoke, "John, I'm not lying. That girl isn't Charlotte. I wanted to be sure, so I took fingerprints and a DNA sample while she was asleep. She's my biological daughter, but she isn't Charlotte." He lifted a file from the table and shoved it John's way, urging him to open it.

John was beyond startled as he flipped through the pages, examining the fingerprint comparisons and charts of DNA. His face held a confused and shocked expression. Sherlock wasn't lying, unless he had fabricated this evidence. The doctor collected his thoughts and said, "How? How is that possible?"

Sherlock sighed, "I was hoping you'd allow me to confront her after I presented my evidence."

John shook his head and stuttered, "No, no, no, no, no, no!" He freaked out, "What do you think that poison was for? Who else could it possibly be for? She's trying to kill us Sherlock!"

Sherlock stood up and grabbed his confused flatmate, cradling the distressed doctor. Several moments later, firmly engulfed in Sherlock's embrace, John calmed himself and muttered, "All this time I've been rejoicing, and Charlotte might be dead. Our little girl might be dead."

Sherlock was desperate to reveal his evidence to everyone else, but after seeing John's reaction, he decided he needed a better plan. After some further preparation, he would find Charlotte and get to the bottom of this disarray.


	23. Uncle

**Author's Note: I'd like to thank the anon who reviewed my last chapter. Your review was very motivational. I LOVED IT! Thanks so much!**

One day the usual pattern changed. The well-dressed man walked in with his folding chair, but he did not bring the book. He set down the chair, took a seat on it and leaned down so he was eye level with the girl. She turned away so he couldn't lock eyes with her.

Then the man remarked, "Spitting image really. You look just like her… well you're her identical twin. What was I expecting?" He laughed to himself.

"Dear me, I forgot you that you have that gag on! Let's get rid of it so you can talk to me, okay?" He spoke as he untied the piece of cloth that was wrapped around Charlotte's face.

She coughed, and then calmly replied, "Thank you."

The man laughed, "You're thanking me? I'm the one keeping you cooped up in this terrible place. Why in the world would you thank me?"

She choked, "You've stopped reading those bloody fairy tales."

The man snickered. He pressed his hands together and then rested his chin upon them. Continuing the conversation, he asked, "So, Asil explained everything, right?"

Charlotte nodded, and then muttered, "You're Moriarty and you're going to kill my dads."

Moriarty corrected, "Close dear! I'm your Uncle Moriarty, but I'm not going to kill your fathers. That's your sister's job."

The criminal's phone buzzed, alerting him of a text message. He reached into his pocket and grabbed the phone. He unlocked the thin black phone by sliding his finger across the touch screen. He stated, "It's from your sister!" Next, he read the text message aloud to his niece, "Sherlock found the poison pills. Shall I follow through with the plan? Love, Asil."

Charlotte cackled, "Pills? You think my fathers would willingly poison themselves?"

Moriarty quipped, "Oh no, of course not love! It's much more fun than that!"

As he typed his reply, he read it out loud to Charlotte, "Auntie Molly sewed a pocket for some extra weapons into the lining of the blue dress. I gave you a few choices! Have fun and make me proud! Hugs and kisses, Uncle Moriarty."

Charlotte gasped, "Auntie Molly… as in Molly Hooper?"

Moriarty chuckled, "Yes my wife Molly."

Charlotte's eyes widened. She wheezed, "Your what?"

He ignored the puzzled girl and recited Asil's response, "I will Uncle Jim. Miss you lots! XOXO, Asil."

Charlotte struggled in her restraints. Moriarty stood up and walked away, without his folding chair. He hummed the tune she'd heard Asil purr before.

After receiving her mentor's text message, Asil lifted Charlotte's iPod and violently pressed the button to play her favorite song. She quickly ripped apart the fluffy blue dress that Charlotte had worn when she was kidnapped. Two separate weapons had been stored in the lining. The first was her favorite knife. It was a birthday gift she'd received when she turned 15, from her uncle. Though she'd never taken a human life with it before, her uncle had encouraged practicing with it. Her other choice was some sort of poison needles she wasn't quite familiar with. She assumed that the folded piece of paper between them was instructions on how they could be used.


	24. Aunt

**Author's Note: I'd like to dedicate this chapter to my faithful anon. You've been reviewing a lot and finally got yourself an account. I'm glad that you can blame it on me. Today, you sent me a review that literally made me cry on the bus ride home. No one has ever had so much faith in me. I cannot thank you enough. (If I ever publish a book, you get the first signed copy.)**

It was early evening at St. Bart's. When Molly found Sherlock trying to lift prints off a bottle of cyanide, she knew the plan was in motion. Of course for now, she'd have to act like a fool. She asked, "What's that pill bottle for Sherlock?"

"It's nothing, just something Lestrade asked me to examine," he lied.

Molly continued, "So everything is alright with Charlotte, I assume? She's getting along fine now?" She was really worried about how Asil was adjusting.

Sherlock nodded, and then randomly inquired, "Why weren't you ever married Molly?"

Molly stammered, "Um, w-what?"

Sherlock posed, "You're 46 already, and you haven't married yet. In fact, I can't recall you having a steady relationship in the past 18 years. You're not unattractive or cruel. You are average in most respects. You work in a morgue, which is a bit of a turn off, but not to everyone. And the cat obsession… but that's not really that awful. So why, Miss Molly Hooper, are you 46 and single?"

Molly didn't respond. She couldn't tell him the truth, of course not. So, what was he about to deduce from her reaction?

Sherlock didn't mind insulting her. John wasn't here to scold him. He quickly went on, "I have caught you off guard, so I believe my deduction is correct. You've been deceitful for quite some time now. There have been signs of course. I'm not just making a random guess. Two years ago when you came back from holiday you had a tan line of a ring. You tried to cover it up, but had to wash your hands after examining a body. The make up you'd used to conceal the marking came off in the sink. You quickly made an excuse to leave, shoving your hand into your coat pocket. I thought this was odd at the time, so I took a mental note of it. Also, you often have new designer clothes. It's all much too expensive for you to afford. No offense, but I'm positive you job does not pay well enough for you to have dresses worth more than five hundred dollars each. Don't even get me starting on the jewelry! It's real and a luxury you'd never let yourself have. Did I mention the year you spent 'researching abroad in America' yet? That was a bit suspicious, especially because you weren't able to contact anyone while you were away. You've never shown us photographs of your trip either."

The detective was now standing just an inch from her face. His eyes tore her down, ripping years of complicated lies to pieces. He requested, "Molly, what's his name?"

She whimpered, "Moriarty."


	25. Innocence

**Author's Note: If you're looking for the perfect song to fit Molly's feelings in this chapter look no further than Lana Del Rey's "Kinda Outta Luck". It's on youtube. go find it when you're done here!**

Molly was willing to follow Sherlock to Scotland Yard. She knew it was time for her to tell him everything. All of the lies she'd spread for those long years would finally be rectified. They made their way out of the hospital and into a cab, with the sun blurring their vision. The morbidly silent drive seemed like an eternity. When they were only seconds from their destination, the detective turned to his captive. He remarked, "You know, Molly… before John appeared… you were the one who made me doubt who I was and the way I lived. For just a second I thought maybe... maybe I could love someone ordinary like you."

Sherlock pushed the door open and stepped out of the cab. He didn't turn back to see Molly's reaction. She sat, sickeningly speechless, as he continued toward the doors. She knew she had to follow him, but hesitated to exit the vehicle. Eventually, she caught up with him. They reached the entrance together.

Moriarty called off the snipers that surrounded Molly at all times. Even though she'd revealed her deepest secret, and in turn the key to his location, he still couldn't kill the woman he loved so dearly. She was the only one he ever felt compassion towards, before his son was born of course. Now he had a family. He had two people whose lives he valued more than his own.

Things were different then when the criminal first danced with Sherlock Holmes. Back before the fall, Jim led a reckless young life. Now he had a greater purpose in the world. He could not risk loosing everything he had gained, but it seemed like his enemy had already won. Soon, Molly would give in and disclose his position. The consulting criminal knew that he needed to act fast if he was going to save himself.

Dim lights filled the stark white interrogation room. Molly sat in a metal chair with her arms resting on a gray table. Across from her, Sherlock stood leaning against the stone wall.

"Why did you marry him?" The detective begged. He pressed his clenched fist to his lips, while deep in rapid thought.

"Because you seemed like you didn't care about me one bit. Look at you, you ended up gay anyway," the lady replied, bluntly.

"That doesn't matter. My interest in you wasn't real. Ever. I just wanted to see your reaction back there in the cab. I can't be the only reason. I wasn't the real motive for you to tie the knot with a dangerous consulting criminal," He alleged.

"I've got a dark side. I find his particular talents extremely attractive," she replied, twirling her hair around her finger.

"No you don't," he corrected.

"I'm an actress, Sherlock. Of course you think I'm innocent and sweet all around. That's what I wanted you to think, because I wanted you. Then later, to hide the truth," she forced.

Stressed wrinkled Sherlock's expression, but he faced the wall so Molly wouldn't see. He struggled to form a useful response. He answered, "No, I know when people are performing. You weren't acting."

Molly laughed. Then, she winked and said, "Right. You can tell when people are acting. Sure. My love would be so amused."

Sherlock turned back to face her. He moved forward and pressed his hands down on the bare table. One hand was to Molly's left, the other was to her right, but they were still a good distance from her physically. She was not intimidated at all.

Mrs. Moriarty admitted, "I've killed people. Plenty of people."

Sherlock had not been completely shocked by this proclamation; he'd predicted that she'd say something like this. He simply stated, "Of course."

She continued, "I have a son. He's called Ambrose. That's where I went for a year."

Sherlock had guessed this too. He rhetorically asked, "Where else could you have possibly gone?"

She giggled and replied, "You're not going to find him Sherlock."

Sherlock questioned, "What?"

Molly responded, "You won't find Moriarty. Poor Charlotte, at least you found her safely for now. I love her very much, but unfortunately she has to suffer. It's part of the plan."

Sherlock reacted, "Charlotte's not home. She never came home. This plan you speak of, is this the plan involving my other daughter?"

Flabbergasted, Molly stuttered, "Y-you know about Asil? How?"

Sherlock said, "I did DNA tastes. Asil, that's her name? How odd. Who picked it?"

Molly didn't want to reveal too much. She hesitated, "Her mother."

Sherlock established, "Not the woman John picked. This was a different woman. Someone close to Moriarty."

The criminal's wife admitted, "I can't say."

Just then, Lestrade walked in through the door. He roared, "Sherlock, there are some men in suits here. They say they've come to take Molly. Technically, they can because we have no right to hold her here."

Sherlock roared, "But she came here willingly!"

Molly lied, "No I didn't! You dragged me here!"

Sherlock growled deeply, "Liar!"

Molly rose from her chair, walked to kiss Sherlock on the cheek, and then continued to the door. Before exciting she turned back and said, "Oh dear, looks like my hubby wants me home already. Good luck trying to find Charlotte." She waltzed out the door, and the men whisked her away.


	26. Mother

Sherlock, John and Lestrade situated themselves in the detective inspector's pale office. Lestrade reigned behind his large wooden desk, and the couple sat, on edge, in front of him. They had lost all possible leads, but now at least Sherlock could prove his theory. The girl at home was not Charlotte, but she was his biological daughter. Molly had confirmed that.

The three men were silent for a long while, but then Anderson appeared at the door. He murmured, "Detective Inspector Lestrade, sir… there is a woman here. She wants to speak with all of you. All three of you."

Lestrade had nothing to loose at this point. He replied, "Bring her in."

John was shocked as the woman entered the room. This woman was THE WOMAN. He thought, _but how? She's dead._

Sherlock rose from the chair he was seated in. He ran up to her and grabbed her by the shoulders of her thick black coat. The detective growled, "You were supposed to stay away!" She shook him off.

Lestrade and John were still very confused. They'd both spent the past 18 years believing that Miss Adler really was deceased.

Irene chirped, "I've been in town for a while. Where have you been?"

Backing father away, Sherlock shook his head and mumbled, "No…"

Irene responded, "No one knows it's me. I've got a new identity. To most of the world, Irene Adler's been dead for 18 years. Don't bother asking me the details of my identity swap… either of my identity swaps. I won't tell you. They were both highly illegal."

Lestrade interjected, "Fine then tell us why you came here."

The woman looked to the floor. She softly explained, "My brother's gone too far this time. His game's gotten out of hand. I fear that he's putting my girls in danger."

The Detective Inspector and the consulting detective simultaneously questioned, "Your what?"

Irene moaned, "Yes my brother. James Moriarty, my half-brother."

Sherlock's face shot up bright red with fury. This couldn't possibly be happening. Everything was falling apart. He hesitated, then rumbled, "You're Charlotte's mother."

The woman winked and said, "Don't forget about Asil!"

Suddenly, just as fast as he'd become red, he was now pale as a sheet. He'd been stricken by the idea that Miss Irene Adler was really his daughter's- no daughters' mother. It was impossible. He knew that the girls' mother had to be someone close to Moriarty, but how could Irene truly be the criminal's half-sibling?

Irene enlightened the three men, "Moriarty set up a fake list of available surrogate mothers. It didn't matter who you picked. I was destined to be their mother. Brother made sure of that, because he wanted all the details. You should've seen how excited he got when he found out that there would be twins! You know how he is with his 'fairy tales'."

Her tone quickly changed, "But now he's put them in danger. I'm here to help you find Charlotte."

Back at Baker Street, a girl dressed in a tight black dress and leather combat boots rested in Sherlock's favorite chair. The dim lights glistened reflections of the knife she twiddled in her hands. She whispered, "Well… looks like we're going to have to wait just a bit."

**Author's Note: I'm sorry! I promise this was the last big twist. Now how will Asil reacts when she finds out that mummy is alive?**


	27. Security

**_Author's note: I'm home! This fanfiction will be over very soon... Thanks for reading!_**

_Back at Baker Street, a girl dressed in a tight black dress and leather combat boots rested in Sherlock's favorite chair. The dim lights glistened reflections of the knife she twiddled in her hands. She whispered, "Well… looks like we're going to have to wait just a bit."_

Sherlock led Irene, Lestrade and John into the apartment. They burst through the door violently. Asil rose from Sherlock's chair, knife in hand. At the sight of her mother, she dropped the weapon. It hit the floor with a loud clank, breaking the silence. She roared, "You were supposed to be dead!"

Irene chuckled, "A lot of people have been saying that lately. Love, you should know that death isn't always final in our family. Haven't you learned anything from your uncle and your father?"

Asil shouted, "You lied to me! For nine years you lied to me!"

The woman changed her tone. Gravely, she replied, "Asil, everything he taught you was a lie. Please let us help you now… I-I should have saved you sooner. I just didn't have the power. I never had the chance."

John added, "It's not your fault. Please, let us help you. You won't be punished if you help us find… your uncle." The last two words struggled off his tongue. The reality that Miss Adler and Moriarty were siblings, and that she was the mother of Sherlock's daughter, no, daughters… he labored to believe this idea. None of it was possible.

Asil sighed. She walked up to Irene, and fell into her arms. Hugging her mother, the girl cried, "I'm pretty sure Moriarty moved Charlotte out of the warehouse… He was planning on taking her to a place called The Copper Beeches. If you want, I can tell you everything I know of his plan."

John prepared some tea for the stricken girl. Asil sat between her biological mother and father, gripping her drink between her hands. Then, just as she had explained to her sister, she detailed to her father and his companions the arrangement Moriarty had spent 15 years perfecting.

When she concluded, Sherlock inquired, "So now he's taken her to The Copper Beeches, which you believe is an estate in Hampshire?"

The girl nodded and said, "We used to go there for country vacations when I was younger."

With much curiosity, Lestrade jumped in, "Can you tell us anything else about it?"

Asil sipped her tea, and then clarified, "I don't know much, but I will tell you what I do know. The security level is very high. When we used to stay there, each night uncle would flip a little switch in the living room. He said it turned on all sorts of safety measures. Lasers, guard dogs, electric fences, you name it, he had it. In a way, I believe it was not only a vacation home, but also an asylum. If anything went wrong, he could hide at The Copper Beeches."

John barked, "How are we going to get Charlotte back with all that security in our way?"

Sherlock took in all of this information. He concluded, "We'll figure out a way to breach security when we get there. He might even let us. Let's leave now."

As usual the consulting detective's word was law, so the group piled into several cabs and headed for the criminal's estate.


	28. Darkness

They exited the cabs on a dirt road a short distance from the estate. Night in the countryside seemed much darker than night in the city. Though many stars filled the sky, life on the ground still appeared pitch black. The eerie trees looming above added to the intimidating mood of the forest. Once everyone was assembled before Sherlock, he gave out simple instructions. The detective commanded, "John, you and I will examine the security system. Lestrade will watch Irene and Asil. We can't trust them. They could be working under Moriarty's orders."

John added, "He doesn't mean it like that, he's just…" Irene waved him off. It was useless for John to try and cover for the detective. She knew that Sherlock could not trust her or her daughter, because he had no real reason to. They would stay with Lestrade out in the woods, while Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes ran off to investigate.

Sherlock ran briskly down the dirt road, doctor in tow. Though he could barely see, he didn't bother to take out his phone to use as a torch. He could not risk loosing any more time, or being discovered. As they neared the gates of the estate, Sherlock slowed down. John caught up with him and grabbed his hand. Dr. Watson whispered, "Just in case something happens to us tonight, because it's very possible that something might… Sherlock, I just want you to know how much you mean to me."

The detective leaned down to briefly kiss the other man, and then replied, "I know, John, I know. I love you."

Before John could reply, Sherlock was dragging him toward the ominous estate entrance. A large gray gate loomed before them, with a huge, decorative skull made of metal in the center. The doctor let go of his companion's hand and reached for the metallic bars. Sherlock grabbed his waist and pulled him back. He sternly murmured, "Don't be an idiot John! What if that's part of the electric fence Asil mentioned?"

John shrugged. Sherlock crept near the gate to carefully examine everything possible. When he'd finished, he turned to face the doctor and said, "This system's been turned off." He pointed to the intercom, "The intercom light isn't on, and I can't hear the hum that an electrical normally gives off. Who could've hacked this system?"

Sherlock took out his mobile and phoned Lestrade. He explained, "The system's turned off. John and I are going in. Stay where you are, but if we don't contact you in half an hour, come after us. Don't let Irene and Asil out of your sight." He hung up the phone and turned to his best friend. He spoke softly, "We're going to have to climb over the gate. Ready?" The doctor nodded, and the pair began the difficult task of finding a way over the gateway.

Once they were inside, they could see the full scale of the huge estate. On closer inspection, they noticed that the small cottage on the left was merely a servant's quarters. In the distance, a tall mansion stood, surrounded by hundreds of huge trees. It was a gorgeous old stone building, with a huge circular tower on one side and plenty of vines growing up its walls. The house looked castle-like, except it gave off a bit of a villainous aura. A single light was on in the entire structure, which beamed from the top window in the round tower. Sherlock knew immediately that Moriarty would most likely be keeping his daughter there, staying with the cliché fairytale pattern. The duo went on walking toward the mansion.

At some point, John tripped over a large object lying on the thin footpath in the dark. Sherlock leaned down to help him up. When he was standing again, they both looked to see what had caused him to loose his footing. They gasped. It was a pit bull, with a bullet through its head. The doctor quickly pointed out that yet another dog was lying further down on the trail. A gunman had killed it, too. They continued in the direction of the stone residence with their fears growing thicker as they walked.

Sherlock and John arrived at the steps of the massive building, and found that the daunting front door was ajar.


	29. Tower REAL UPDATE, sorry for confusion

The consulting detective and his short doctor entered the intimidating mansion with caution. They made there way up several dark staircases and down multiple empty hallways, in an effort to reach the source of light.

They traveled carefully up the tower. The passage was narrow, with thick stonewalls on either side of the weak wooden steps. As they rose, they passed heads of animals and other strange decorations that were barely visible in the shadows. A light began to shine after they climbed several stories. Suddenly a wooden door came into view. Though it was shut, they could see the glowing light seeping from beneath it. John tried to open the door, but the lock prevented him from doing so. Then voices sounded from behind the entry.

A deep voice bellowed, "You really thought _you_ could come here and save her? I could have you killed right now with a snap of my fingers!" He shouted loudly, "Do you know who I_ am_?"

A girl, obviously Charlotte, tried desperately to shout, but her cries were greatly muffled by some sort of gag.

Another voice confidentially sang, "Look how far I've come. I found you at the warehouse, followed you here to Copper Beeches and then hacked your expensive security system. Can't you see what I am capable of?"

Sherlock and John turned to look at one another, completely stunned. That voice was so familiar. It unmistakably belonged to Charlotte's innocent, frail, queasy friend, Johnny.

In a split second, Sherlock screamed, "Everyone back away from the door." He pushed his foot against the wood and it crashed to the floor.

Moriarty, standing directly in front of the doorway, gasped at the sight of the doctor and the detective. He retorted, "Oh my! Look who finally decided to come out and play."

Johnny, who had positioned himself across from Moriarty, now turned to face Charlotte's fathers. The sleek black shotgun he held in his hands pointed directly at Sherlock. The detective demanded, "Put that down now!" The boy hesitantly lowered his gun.

An electric azure dress clothed Charlotte. A wooden chair and thick ropes entrapped her. A thick cloth gag hampered her speech. Her normally bright appearance had vanished, but her eyes were still a brilliant shade of blue.

John rushed to his daughter's side, and quickly worked to remove her restraints. Moriarty made no effort to stop him. He simply stood by and observed.

Mr. Holmes examined Johnny from a distance. He was dressed in all black, in some sort of attempt to disguise himself in the darkness. In an effort to conceal his bright orange hair, he had covered his head with a wool cap. Waves of ginger locks were still exposed underneath it. Blood, probably from shooting the dogs, was splattered over the boy's feet and lower legs. The flooded gash on his forehead and the red liquid on his knuckles most likely came from his attempts at jumping the fence. Yet even with all of this power to deduce the boy's journey here, the detective still did not understand one thing.

Sherlock inquired, "Why are you here? You have no place-"

The man's partner interrupted, "Sherlock, it's what I've been telling you all along."

The detective twirled his head toward John. Then, he snapped, "What?"

Dr. Watson sighed as he replied, "He loves her. Something you still don't seem to comprehend! Even though you claim to love me!"

Moriarty laughed a mysterious robust laugh. The criminal remarked, "Dear me! Looks like the happy little family isn't as perfect as it seems." He lifted his gun toward Sherlock and cried, "I've finally got my chance. I knew this plan would work."

Without warning several more beings appeared at the door. The crowd included Irene, Lestrade, Asil, Molly, a small boy and several henchmen.

Asil pushed pass the others and stood before her uncle. She confronted Jim, "So everything you told me was a lie. You never wanted to save me. You never wanted me to kill John and Sherlock. You wanted to do it yourself! You convinced me that they were terrible for abandoning me, but they didn't leave me. You stole me!"

Moriarty croaked, "What are you doing here?" He pointed his gun directly at the girl he'd spent years raising for this moment.

Interrupting from just beyond the doorway, Molly explained, "We found them wondering in the woods surrounding the property." She wore an elegant red dress that fit tightly to her figure. It seemed out of character to Sherlock, but then again, everything he knew, as Molly was a lie.

Fed up with the pointless chatter, Asil pulled her knife from her boot. She held it out, aiming as if she might throw it at Moriarty. She snarled, "Excuse me, 'Uncle Jimmy', but I WAS SPEAKING!"

Moriarty, gun still raised, rolled his eyes. He seemed ready to shoot.

Everyone except for John seemed frozen and stunned. In an effort to push the criminal down, the doctor left Charlotte and ran past Sherlock, lunging forward. The detective grabbed him by the collar of his jumper. He murmured, "No John. This is between them."

Lestrade protested, "But Sherlock! She's just a girl."

Sherlock turned to glare at the DI and retorted, "She can handle this herself!"

No one noticed Miss Adler's shift in position until after the sound of gunfire. The woman, who had jumped in front of the girl to save her, cascaded to the floor. A puddle of her own blood began to surround her chest. Asil plummeted to her knees beside her mother. She whimpered, "Mum."

Charlotte, who now stood beside her fathers, made eye contacted with her destroyed sister. She requested, "Asil… I thought you said mum was dead… Who is this?"

Asil wiped away the tears from beneath her eyes. She wept, "This is our mother. I didn't know she was alive. I guess that doesn't matter now."

Still, the bystanders were unsure of what to do.

Moriarty dropped his gun. It hit the ground with a soft clink. He whispered, "I'm sorry dear sister… I didn't mean for it to end like this." He looked over at the infamous detective. He admitted, "Sherlock, I'll never win." He raised his arms and continued, "Just kill me now. Please, I can't go to jail and wait to be hanged."

Sherlock Holmes grabbed his gun and lifted it as if to fill the criminal's, but he didn't shoot. Next, without any concern for safety, Sherlock twitched his wrist and flicked the gun several times toward the door. Meanwhile, he commanded, "Go! Leave now."

Shocked, Moriarty could not respond.

The frustrated detective demanded, "Get out of the country as soon as possible. Take your wife and your son before I change my mind, and leave my daughter here."

Lestrade protested, "You can't-"

Sherlock cut him off, "Shut up Lestrade."

Still thunderstruck, but too relieved to argue, Moriarty took his wife's hand and led her out the door. His henchman tried to follow, but John and Lestrade already had them in handcuffs.

_**Author's Note: Almost done.**_


	30. Exchange REALLY DONE NOW

__**Author's Note: I'm so sorry it took this long to finish the story. I'm so sad to say goodbye to this story, it had been a great experience writing this story for you all. Thanks to everyone who stayed faithful until the end. I hope that you enjoyed my story. If you want more, I'd like to let you know that there will be a sequel with the same new characters! Also, I have more Sherlock stories uploaded that you can check out! Goodbye, and again… Thanks for all the reviews! I hope to hear from you all again!**

_Ten Years Later_

Frost enveloped the windows of 221B Baker Street. A green tree covered in tiny yellow lights stood in the corner of the living room. Along the mantel and next to the infamous skull, photographs of the past looked down upon the family that filled the room. The first was the last picture the twins had ever taken with their beloved landlady, Mrs. Hudson, before she passed away. The next one showed one of the twins in a military uniform, beside it sat a framed newspaper clipping of the other twin proudly solving her first case. The line continued with a wedding photo of Johnny and Charlotte, then a picture of a small black haired girl and a baby. At the end of the row, a large, family portrait of the two men and their girls rested beside a tiny, pocket-sized photograph of Miss Adler.

Two card tables shoved together and some folding chairs were set up as makeshift dining room furniture in the tiny flat. A top the spotless, white tablecloth an enormous meal was spread out before the tiny family. Sherlock Holmes sat at the head of the table, apportioning food to his kin.

Looking across the table at her sister, Charlotte beamed, "I'm so happy you're home this Christmas, Asil!"

Ten years prior, Sherlock and John had decided that in order to redeem herself and prove that she would not follow Moriarty, Asil would study medicine and become a doctor in the army. She sped through her medical training, and was sent off shortly after she began training with the military. She had not spent much time with her twin before her departure.

To her sibling, she replied, "Oh Charlotte, I'm glad I can finally spend some time with you!"

Sherlock passed a plate over to Johnny, who set it down in front of the child beside him. She appeared to be no older than four, and her dark curly hair matched her mother's. In fact, almost all of her features mimicked her mother, Charlotte, and she barely resembled Johnny at all. She quickly grabbed for some bread, but her father's hand reached out to stop her. He scolded, "M. I. please, Wait until everyone else has their food!"

Charlotte, struggling to hold a toddler on her lap, begged, "How many times do I have to ask you to stop calling her M. I.? It is an awful nickname. In fact, it's not a real nickname; it's two letters! Can you just call her Molly Irene, please?"

Johnny apologized, "I'm sorry dear. Do you want me to take Hamish, so you can eat?"

Charlotte handed the chubby baby over. He smiled and clapped his hands as he rested on his dad's lap. The man ruffled the little boy's short, red hair, which had just begun to grow. The entire family "awed" at the adorable exchange.

There was an unfamiliar, tall, lean man seated next to Asil. His smooth black hair and dark eyes contributed to his already sinister presence. Sherlock, from the head of the table, asked, "So Andrew, what are your plans for my daughter now that you've asked for her hand in marriage?" The young woman coldly glared at her father.

"Ah well Mr. Holmes… I think you should know…" The man began.

To interrupt, Asil barked, "Andrew, not now!"

Andrew replied, "Love, I think your family should know."

Asil sighed and confessed, "I… I-I'm pregnant."

John gasped and Sherlock smirked. The doctor glared over at his significant other. He mumbled, "You knew didn't you?"

"I noticed as soon as she walked into the door," the detective admitted, "There were tell-tale signs."

John shoved food in his mouth and made no attempt at a response, angry that Sherlock had waited until now to bring it up.

A short while later, the family arranged themselves around the tree to exchange gifts. Charlotte grabbed a box from the tree and handed it to Sherlock, who sat next to Asil on the sofa. He pushed it away and said, "No dear, I insist that you and your sister open your gifts first."

Asil took the present from her sibling and forced it onto her father's lap. She scolded, "Absolutely not. You will open your gift right now. Then John will open his. Only after that will Charlotte and I even consider opening ours."

Sherlock argued, "No, I really don't care for gifts anyway. You must open yours first!"

Charlotte yelped, "FATHER! Asil and I worked really hard to find you a decent gift! Just ask Johnny, because he saw me staring at the computer catalogue stressing over this!"

The three geniuses continued to argue profusely, with their confused lovers standing by, unsure if they should interfere or not.

After a moment's brawl of sharp statements and frustrated snarls, John finally stepped up. Grabbing the detective's shoulder, he calmly requested, "Please stop fighting. This is ridiculous."

Sherlock moaned, "Fine then, why don't you pick?"

Asil nodded. Charlotte agreed, "Great idea! You decide which one of us has to open a gift first!"

_So John picked._

The end.


End file.
